Beneath A Moonless Sky Love Never Dies
by Roswell1828
Summary: Christine keeps her promise to bury Erik's body, but travels below to find something else awaiting for her in the dark. . . . My version of "Love Never Dies". I OWN NOTHING!
1. Christine: Discovery

_~Phantom~_

By: Shannon K. O'Brien

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Christine:**____"Discovery"_

I gazed up at the decaying giant before me; the charred, skeletal remains of the once opulent _Opera Populaire_. It was no longer opulent in any way. It resembled a mere shell of its former self. A visual replica of my soul.

The last two weeks of my life were surreal. I was floating around in a world so far from the one that I had known, trying madly to come to grips with the choice I had made, and all that it entailed. Ultimately, no matter how I attempted to deceive myself, my heart, mind, and soul always gravitated towards the same thing.

_Him_.

Without my mentor, my guardian, I floundered helplessly in a sea of misdirection. Just when I believed things could never have turned darker, there was the announcement in the paper earlier this morning . . .

My angel was dead. It was my fault; it was I who had killed him.

I had known all along what would become of him when left with nothing and no one, and yet I had not done a thing to prevent it. I was a coward who lacked the courage to follow her heart, an idealistic child who had been unprepared for the gray. Love is not always black and white. What is black to one person is white to another, and then there are the many finer shades of gray. What I felt, what I _feel_ for him has no rhyme or reason. It's as stormy and turbulent as the emotional sea I was caught in; but it was real. Of that I was certain.

Now, it was too late. What I felt no longer mattered.

I could never tell him now . . . tell him how frightened I was of him, of the emotions that overwhelmed me and held me captive while in his arms. Nothing could have prepared me for the chemical reaction I felt as his lips melded perfectly with mine.

It petrified me.

All that was left was to keep my promise. No matter how long it took, I would find him and I would complete his last request. It was the very least that I can do for the man who had done so very much for me.

Tonight, in the cold moldering earth, beneath the place of my childhood, I would bury half my heart, and with it the youth which crippled me. Tomorrow I would marry Raoul and give him what was left of my heart, and pray that god would forgive me my weakness.

It took me over an hour to navigate my way through the burnt innards of the building to the hidden subterranean tunnels accessed from my old dressing room. I was determined, nothing would hinder me. Finally I came upon what was left of my room. Once pink, gold and glittering; it was now, black, disintegrated, and decaying. The mirror still remained amazingly unharmed, save for the ash which covered its tarnished glass. It was no ordinary mirror; it was a doorway to the underworld. A doorway to him, to whatever was left of his domain. . . .

A tear escaped my burning eyes, as I grieved for the man I had selfishly abandoned.

I pushed my way through the rubble strewn floor to the mirror. It was shockingly much easier to slide open than I had ever thought. It was as though it had been prepped for my arrival. Once inside the stone tunnel beyond, I reached for the torch which was always positioned on the wall to the right. I had known I would need its light, and brought along matches stole from Raoul's study to ignite its flame. With illumination now in hand I slowly and tediously descended into the blackness. I cannot say for how long I wandered down, deeper and deeper into the abysmal depths. After what seemed an eternity, I made it to the ethereal lake which ran below.

Lake Averne.

Rocking in the gentle ebb of the tide was the gondola Raoul and I had used in our escape; the same vessel that Erik had used to bring me across its distance not so long ago. It was loose on the lake, blatantly abandoned and left to drift aimlessly in the once emerald waters. I lifted my skirts to save them from being soaked, even though they were now soiled beyond repair from the trek through numerous miles of filth, and sank thigh high into the icy water to head towards the boat. It didn't take much effort to heave myself up and into the swaying craft; the adrenaline that coursed through me fueled my strength exponentially.

Only moments before, time had seemed to lag on indefinitely and now it ran implausibly fast. I paddled across Lake Averne and docked the boat on her granite shores in what felt mere moments. I knew that I was getting closer. Wherever he had hidden himself I knew that the spot lay beyond this point "of no return". I believed the entrance to the remaining tunnels could be accessed from somewhere inside his house. However, the house was in almost as bad of shape as the opera above. Though the fire had not reached it, the mob had virtually demolished it in their blind hatred. The front door lay on the banks of the lake, the windows had been shattered and as I passed through the front foyer I saw the exquisite furniture that had filled its rooms smashed, completely and utterly vandalized.

_Oh, Erik._

His hard won fortress of solitude was decimated. The sight, I knew, would have torn his soul. I hoped that he had fled into the recesses of the earth before ever witnessing such a disgusting display of human destruction. I inhaled the cool air deeply, steadying the rage which boiled my blood, and carefully began to step over the precious broken fragments of his life. I stifled a sob as I passed his music room and saw, to my complete horror, the ripped shards of his compositions scattered on the ground like ordinary trash. A life's work of unrivaled genius destroyed; lost to the ignorance of man. I walked into the room, only able to reach his mangled piano before being halted by the debris. I ran my hands along the snow-white keys, broken into pieces, and as I did, I could so clearly see him in my memory. It was a childish gesture, but even still, I reached down and took hold a splinter of ivory, and placed the material memory next to my heart, safely secure in the bodice of my gown. I would keep it always.

I moved on.

It was in the _**Louis**_-Philippe room, designed so painstakingly to cater to my every fancy, that I found the secret entrance to the rest of the tunnels. The enormous armoire that was once filled with glorious gowns, still stood, but the beautiful gowns no longer adorned its racks. The dresses had been torn to shreds, the doors wrenched from the hinges. I had always considered the armoire quite large; big enough for a man to easily stand in. . . .

I felt around the inside walls for one of his trademark levers, perhaps a button of some kind, something that would open either a hatch in the floor, or the still intact back wall. I knew unwaveringly that the armoire was the key. I felt it. Now all I had to figure out was where a mad genius would place the device that unlocked the entry to his grave - not an easy task.

Exasperated and beginning to become extremely agitated, I sighed heavily, crossing my arms and heftily leaned my back, and all its weight, against the rear wooden wall of the armoire.

That's when I heard the slight _clicking_ sound from behind me. And as I eased away from the wall, turning to look, I watched as the wall hinged outward, towards me. It was indeed the secret entrance I was searching for. He was beyond it, I could feel him near. I could always sense his presence; I should not have been surprised that same held true even in death.

The tunnel I stepped into was much cruder than the meticulously carved ones I had known. For one thing, the ceilings were shorter, far shorter. My petite frame had to crouch to walk on further. And to make matters even worse, the torch I held was nearing its end. Without its illumination I would be blind in the dark. I hadn't thought it would take so long to reach him. There was nothing to be done now but continue on.

After a while the tunnel widened and grew in height. Before I knew it I was in a vast chamber. I held my dying torch outward, trying in vain to see the room in its entirety. It was huge, an immense cavern of rock. He had not carved it, of that I was positive. No, the great cavity I now stood in was forged by nature. I stepped forward, and felt something beneath my right foot. I moved back, bent down to shine my light and saw a crisp white letter. Scrawled in his perfect hand was my name. . . .

_**Christine,**_

I couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. I stood motionless as I held the envelope in my trembling hands. With a great intake of air, I opened the letter. . . .

_**If you are reading this then you have come back to finish what I could not. It would be quite hard for one to bury one's self, would it not? I am sorry to entrust this responsibility to you, my dear but there is no one else. Perhaps it is not even you that has come for me, or is reading this now. Perhaps it is that boy you have chosen. If so, I ask that he please pass these last words on to you.**_

_**I am sorry, for everything. I can only hope that in time you shall at last forgive me.**_

_**If you travel on just a few hundred meters ahead, it is there that you will find me. There is nothing to be done but to complete my grave. It was dug long ago, long before you ever came into my life. All that you must do is place me in it and seal it. You will find a shovel alongside me.**_

_**Thank you . . . For this . . . For you. **_

_**Eternally yours,**_

_**Erik**_

A warm current of tears cascaded down my cheeks to fall upon the snowy paper held in my hands, staining it with grief. I folded the letter back up, and placed it in its envelope, which I then tucked into my bodice next to the shattered shard of the ivory piano key.

Well, that was that.

There was nothing I could do but travel onward, which I did; slowly. I was scared, so scared of what I would find. How long would he have been down there? My mind didn't wander for long, however. For crumpled up in a stony corner of the massive chamber was the writer of the letter. I could make out his frame dimly in the gloom. I began to run, but then halted. Once again afraid of what I would find.

"My dear, Comtesse, do not be frightened for you are early and I am not yet dead."

Shocked, horrified and ashamed all at once, I ran towards him and as I did the flickering flame of the torch extinguished. Blind in the dark, I all but trampled him as I stumbled over his resting form.

"I said that I was not yet dead Comtesse, are you truly so eager to complete the task?"

My eyes struggled to adjust in the dark, and could I have seen his face, I was sure I would have slapped him for his ill-timed derision. But as it were, I was far too stunned to do anything but lie still on the cold stone floor beside him.

"Comtesse, why are you not far away on some exotic isle with your gallant Comte?"

"Stop calling me, Comtesse, for I will not be one until tomorrow!"

"Well, then. I suppose I should be quite flattered that you came on the eve of such a blessed occasion. But I did believe it was to be on the 20th, was it not?"

"Yes. However, today is the 19th." I wondered if he was that disoriented, that time made no sense for him anymore.

"The 19th, did you say?" I quickly picked up on the hushed surprise which colored his tone.

"Yes."

"Damn Daroga! Damn that man! I told him not to place the announcement until after your. . . ." He could not, or would not finish the sentence which he had started so vehemently.

"I'm sorry." Such a stupid, inconsequential thing to say, and yet I could think of nothing else to utter.

"Sorry that that damn man placed the add far too early, or sorry that I am as of yet, still alive?"

"Shall I even dignify that with a response?"

He laughed wryly. "Well, I can see that it must be the latter then."

"Dammit, Erik! Stop it! I know that you are not stupid, and I know that you know the last thing I would ever wish for is your death. How could you ever think such a thing?" I broke down. Tears of relief, frustration, and anger began to stream down my face.

"_Christine_."

I felt, very acutely, the moment his body shifted beside mine to draw nearer.

"I am sorry, my girl. I have once again made you cry. I feel that is sadly all I ever have done."

"How can you say that, when you must know you have also brought me such happiness?" Unthinkingly, I reached forward to grasp his arm. The moment I made contact, a jolt of unsurpassed delight ran through me. I sighed from the sensation, and heard as he did the same.

"You should go now, Christine. I was a selfish, foolish cretin to force you to make such a promise to me. I do thank you for keeping it, however I think, especially due to his incompetence, that Nadir should be the one to finish the job. I am sorry, for wasting your time but you do not have to worry yourself on me any longer. Soon enough, I shall be gone and out of your mind forever."

"As though you could ever truly leave me, leave my heart or my mind?" I raged at him. I was angry, so angry that he still did not comprehend what he meant to me. "You plaque my every moment! You are with me when I know you are not and there is nothing I can do to change it. You are part of me. You have made yourself one with me, and I hate you for it, because even in death I shall never be free!"

I sobbed and he held me, neither of us uttering a word. The ever present singing in my veins began to gain crescendo the longer his lithe hands caressed my back. Even now I was still virtually sightless in the subterranean darkness. All that I could make out was the outline of our bodies. My tears eased, and I laid my head upon his chest and it was then that I heard the racing of his pulse, beating in perfect time with my own. I clutched at him tighter. Something within me was screaming for contact but even still, with our bodies pressed against one another, it was not enough to satisfy the dominant urge within.

What made the calling worse was how he responded. His sighs of happiness, of want, rang in my ears as beautiful as any of his other compositions, causing my mind to detach from the potent yearnings of my body, giving it full reign.

I wanted him. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything before; I wanted him to hold me tighter, caress me longer and kiss me. Yes, I wanted his lips against mine. . . .

And so I touched him. First his cheek and then, in the dark, I traced the outline of his lips, and in return I heard a sigh so aching in nature it tore apart what little self control remained.

I gave into him, fully and completely as his lips met mine.

**(End of Christine's narrative. Next part will be Erik's.)**

***Author's Note: **Really looking for some feedback on this one since it's my first fan-fiction. Tell me what you guys think in the comments! More to come from Erik's pov in the next section **;)***


	2. Erik: Light

_~Phantom~_

By: Shannon K. O'Brien

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Erik:**____"Light"_

She was kissing me. My perfect angelic reflection of beauty was moving her lips with as much fervor as my own. It was not a dream; for the sensation of her gossamer lips entwined with mine could never have been fabricated. Tears glided down my face and collided with our tangled lips.

"Please, don't cry my angel." She broke away to wipe clean the tears, not flinching at the marred skin beneath her touch.

"Christine, you must go. Leave me. I'm begging you! You know what will happen if you stay."

"I do." She answered unphased.

"Do you not care?"

"On the contrary, I care very much."

I was stunned into silence. Could it be that what I had dreamt for so many lonely years was now a reality? Could she truly want me, as I wanted her?

It did not matter. For I could never let it be. She was better than that, better than me; it was the certainty I had realized that night that she first laid her lips upon mine. The night the great Opera Populaire stood burning above us.

"No, you must go! Now!" I leapt to my feet, pulling her with me. If she did not have enough sense for her own preservation, I did.

"Erik, what are you doing? Release me! I want you, I have always wanted you!" Again her eyes welled and overflowed with tears. Each tear that fell was a knife in my already splintering heart.

"Christine, for the love of Christ, you have to leave! You do not want _this_!" My temper was getting the better of me, as it always did and I shook her fragile frame violently, pointing towards the source of all my woes, causing her to trip backwards and land upon the unforgiving floor below. As she fell onto the rocky ground, I heard the tinkling of something hit the floor.

In the dark for near a week, my eyes had long ago adjusted to the ever-present night. It was not too difficult to see the white key or the gold band which she had secreted away in her gown. They lay on the floor exposed beside her crying form, like beacons on a black sea. I knelt slowly; grasping both items in my hands, then fell upon my knees alongside her. The mangled, broken shard of the ivory key tore at my heart more so than the ring.

"You kept this, why?" I placed the gold band on the floor, yet held tight to the ivory; a buoy of life in my personal Dead Sea, a sea of my wretchedness.

She sat up, leaning against the cold stone wall, and wiped the tears from her face. She answered, annoyance staining her response. "Of course I did. For what else would I have left of you, once you are gone?"

I did not know what to say, or what to think. I sat dumb and numb, twisting the key over and over again in my hand. And before I could muster a response, she was there, halting my maddening rotation. Her hand upon my own was softer than newly spun silk. I closed my eyes, bent into the sturdy structure of the rock, and contemplated the significance of what was clutched in my hand. I held my breath as her gentle hand eased from my arm to lovingly cup my hideous face. She was the only human being who had ever touched it, even my own mother had not. I could have died happier in that moment than in all the long years of my pitiful existence.

"Can you not see the affect your absence will have upon me?" Her eyes gazed into mine with a beseeching need for understanding.

Of course I did. How could I not? If placed in the same role as the lovely creature before me, I knew that I would unquestionably replicate her actions. There was no way that I could sustain my life without some visual fragment of her to keep me breathing. After all, I still carried with me the yellow ribbon she had given me so long ago. . . .

She was a mere fifteen when the yellow ribbon was given to me. It was a warm, windless spring day. I had spied her running with the little Giry girl through the sunlit corridors of the opera house. And as she passed each clear pane of glass, light danced across her coffee curls, suffusing the ribbon with an unearthly glow. I had never seen anything like it.

Later she came to the chapel for her daily vocal lesson, so young, yet no longer a mere child, she danced down the steps in a graceful bound, the canary colored bow still shimmering in her russet locks.

"You are late." Always concealed out of sight, I used the secret chamber just beyond the chapel to dictate my lessons. It was perfect, I could easily be heard, and I could see her, thanks to the miniature two-way mirror I had added to the room just for that reason.

"I am sorry, Master. Meg and I were roaming the grounds and I lost track of the time."

"It is alright, my girl. I am glad that you were enjoying yourself, but always remember that punctuality is an important trait for one to posses. So, from now on I do expect you promptly for our lessons."

"Yes, of course."

"Now, where did we leave off yesterday?" And so the hour of tutoring went on, until at last I knew I would have to let her go, for soon it would be supper.

"That is all for today. Remember to practice your scales tonight."

"I will." And with that she was off, once again a graceful bird of flight.

"Christine.'

"Yes?" She halted her stride and turned.

"That ribbon in your hair looks quite lovely."

A flattering blush rose to color her little face. "Do you really think so, my angel?"

"I do, indeed."

"Well then, I shall leave it for you, and with it you will remember me."

"Thank you, my child, but I could never forget you even if I tried."

She placed the ribbon on the altar all the same, smiled, and left. I had kept it with me ever since. . . .

"Erik?" Her warm inquiring touch pulled me back from my reverie.

"Christine, you do not know what you say, what you feel. Your emotions are deceiving you. You know as well as I, that my presence has a rather curious effect on you." I needed to make her see why she should run, why she should flee that very moment.

"Yes, I do know that."

I sighed, exasperated by her calm. "Why, Christine? Why would you want this? Why in God's name, would you want _me_?"

"I don't."

"But you just said–" I rattled on baffled, yet unable to finish as she interrupted me.

"I said that I wanted you, yes; and make no mistake, I do. But, my love–" Her hand fell from its place upon my face, back to her side as she heaved a sigh.

"I _need_ you far more than I _want_ you." She was caressing me, and once again I could have died satisfied.

I wanted her. Oh, how I wanted her in that moment! For I knew precisely what she was getting at, I had always needed her more than I had ever wanted her. It was a need so primal, that I knew I could never live the rest of my life without her; the sole reason that I was currently where I was. Life, for me, meant naught without her. But this was too much to bear. I had never, in all my years, in all my grandiose delusions, imagined such a response from her. I had prepared myself for rejection, denial and hatred, but never this.

"I do believe the gods are on our side." She cooed as she stroked my bared neck, causing the tendons beneath to stiffen in restraint. "I do not know what would have become of me if I had found you gone. I was already resigned to bury away half of my heart with you tonight, and the notion was killing me. Not too many people are given a second chance."

"This is not a second chance, Christine, it is a mistake; the fault of a man. If Nadir had only listened to me! He was too early, and knowing that buffoon, it was deliberate. Yet, whatever the case might be, you chose already, and it was not me."

"Am I not allowed to change my mind?" She was angry; the emotion was obvious in her retort.

It was final. I was the only one who could save us. It was now or never. If I had her, even just once, I would never let her go. No matter the number of years which passed, it would make no difference. Death its self would not free me.

"No, I cannot allow it!" Once again, I yanked her to her feet and just as before, she stumbled backward out of my hands. This time, however, to the right, and all but over the precipice of my pre-dug grave.

Instantly, my arm shot out to take hold of hers, but I was just out of reach. I knew I would have to get closer. "Christine, stay very still."

The tone of my voice had her grasping that the situation was indeed serious. She stood there frozen as a look of acknowledgment filled her eyes. The heel of her shoe hung precariously over the edge, the ground was approximately ten feet below; a fall that if committed, was bound to injure.

"I want you to take my hand." I inched toward her slowly; careful of the uneven earth, not wanting it to crumble under my feet which would then cause her to plummet downward.

She angled her ringlet covered head so that she could look over her shoulder at the cause of my current behavior; I watched as recognition dawned on her face. It took a few moments before her eyes could discern the gaping hole just behind her, but the moment that she had, those petite chocolate orbs grew as wide as an owl's. She turned back to me horrified.

"Erik, oh my God!" Her voice was a whispered hush, yet I heard the unmasked panic in it all the same.

I was making my way towards her, only a fraction of space left before I could take hold of her, when I saw the loose ground beneath her left foot give way.

"No!" I flung myself forward and grasped hold of her right hand; the force causing me to fall chest down on the ground. I quickly righted myself, pulled her up and out of the hole that I was so eager to be one with only moments ago, and held her to me.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I've got you now. I've got you." She sobbed in my arms, and a part of me wanted to join her; so damn grateful was I that I had made it to her in time.

"Please, please say that you will not leave me!" She was again that small, frightened child of eight who had wept every night of her first month of life as orphan in the opera.

"Christine . . . ." I didn't want to lie to her.

"I cannot live without you, Erik. I know that now. Please say that you will not leave me. Even if it is only for tonight, just do not leave me."

That promise was one which I could keep. There was no hesitation within me as I answered, "No, my angel, I will not leave you tonight."

It must have been enough for her, for I felt her warm breath of relief upon my face, and her cashmere tongue which caressed mine. I knew then that I had found my light; at long last I had found my way. I expelled all rational thought from my mind as I unfastened the stays of her gown, and gave into the dream I had never dared dream before. . . .

***Author's Note: Thank you all so very much for your encouraging reviews. I read and appreciate each and every single review more than I can say. I hope you like this 'non-edited' new chapter. I had my bff, who is a special education teacher (and now the amazing Grayskies29, who is my 'official' beta now), edit my last chapter, but this one was done yesterday, and it's had zero editing, lol! I only have a 9****th**** grade education, so being that most of the reviews yu guys have left have, "Well written!" somewhere within in them, is a compliment I never thought I would receive. THANK YOU! It's the reviews which inspire me to write ;) Anyone out there willing to edit? . . . . **

**Now . . . Do you guys want the next section from Christine's POV, or Erik's? And how much . . . uhmhmm . . . detail do you want? Lmao! Let me know in the reviews =)***


	3. Christine: Letting Go

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Christine:**____"Letting Go"_

I had sworn that I would no longer behave as a child yet there I was, hysterical in his searching arms. My actions could not have been helped. The fear of losing him once and for all, after now knowing that it was not too late for him to be saved – for us to be saved – was too much to bear. I needed him and if crying was what it would take to keep him with me, then that was what I would do. It worked. Even now as my mind roamed, so too, did Erik's hands as they carefully began removing the first layer of my garments.

"I'm sorry – so sorry." I spoke breathlessly, releasing my lips from his. All I had wanted was to prove to him that I was not the same sniveling child as before, and thus far I had done nothing to disprove that.

"You have nothing to apologize for. If anyone should be pleading for forgiveness, it is I." He was silent a few moments, but his hands still wandered, still explored.

"I love you, Christine. Do you have any concept of just how much I do love you?" It must have been meant as rhetorical, for he immediately continued on, not leaving a moment's hesitation for me to answer. "I would be lying if I did not confess that I fear that you are only here out of a sense of obligation, of duty, and that you will feel differently in the morning." His exploratory hands, released me and lowered, as did his head, in defeat.

"I will not!" I vowed fervently, grasping his hands in mine.

"I do wish that I could believe you, and I am sure that you mean what you say now but tomorrow, as I have often found, is a completely different affair."

"Erik. . . " I tilted his chin, forcing his golden eyes to meet mine. Those luminescent spheres were the only objects I could discern in the dark. They gazed into mine and like the numerous prisms of a canary diamond, which they so resembled, just as many emotions danced within them.

"If you cannot trust in what you hear, then you must trust in what you feel."

I held his face between my hands, and once again I kissed him. Each time my lips made contact with his, I was amazed by their softness, and his tongue . . . all the bones in my body turned to liquid as it met mine and I unwillingly released a low murmur into our joined mouths.

"_Oh, Christine. . ._" He sighed, akin to a litany after each breath, each kiss.

"Do not think . . . just _feel_." I kissed the uneven plains of his face; every inch of it. I found that I did not mind, not at all.

It was quite the contrary, in fact. It highly pleased me. I knew that only a handful of humans had ever come close enough to shake his hand, let alone touch that which repelled them so. It had repulsed me at first too, but then – just as he had said – I had learned to see the man behind the monster. And the man was far more interesting than the deformity which marked him. That I could give him that contact, which had been denied him, filled me with immense joy. His nimble hands, that were now traversing my back and waist, thrilled me; once more I sighed in elation.

His lips untangled from mine, and he drew back to look into my eyes; eyes so dull and lackluster in comparison with his.

"_My Christine . . . sweet Christine._" He now held my face in his hands, embracing me tenderly. I knew what those ingenious hands were capable of, and of all their traits neither tenderness nor gentleness, was not among them. But even when he had the chance, he had never shown me that side of himself. Not even that night. . . .

"Do you want _this_? Are you so positive you want this face above you while you are made love to?" His voice was a shadow of the ferocious flames that gleamed bright in his eyes.

_My poor, Erik. How could anyone be so disgusted with themselves?_

I kissed him, wanting desperately to wash away all the miseries of his past, if only I could.

"Your haunted face holds no horror for me now . . . It's in your soul that my love for you burns on."

He sighed, a sound of pure euphoria. At last, he appeared convinced of my willingness, of my desire. The feel of his touch, his kiss, was no longer shy. His muscular hands caressed and held me with a sudden urgency, so potent that it sent my heart hammering around its cage like the wings of a captive bird.

As a child, I never would have dreamt of allowing anyone, let alone him, to explore me in such ways. I most certainly would never have dared imagine enjoying the carnal act so much. Yet there I sat, no more than a puppet in his masterful hands, caught in a sea of ecstasy; one I had no desire to ever emerge from. I felt my breasts harden beneath his frame as he pinned me pleasantly to the ground and noticed, through my hazy vision, that we were both nearly unclothed. The floor was cold beneath me, but the warmth his touch generated, made up for it tenfold.

"Christine," he whispered huskily, his breath moist and hot upon my ear.

Slowly removing the last visages of my clothing, I felt a grin slide into place upon his lips.

"Do you know when I first loved you?" He laughed, his cat-like eyes glittering with humor – I had never seen him like that – and then corrected himself. "Let me rephrase that, if you will. Do you know when I first fell in love with you? To say 'love' is inaccurate, for I have always loved you, Christine. But there was a precise day when I clearly remember the first time that I felt more for you than ever before. Can you guess it?"

In some realm near heaven and bliss, the only response I was capable of was a weak, "No."

"You were fifteen, it was the end of January, and you looked exquisite in the jade colored dress you wore. You and the Randall boy – that overconfident little putz who thought himself god's gift to the ballet – were hiding behind the set to one of the most heinous productions of Hansel and Gretel ever performed. I had been watching you very closely that month – more closely than usual, shall we say." I could hear the smile in his tone.

"When I had seen that you were . . . smitten, with that Randall character, I was everywhere you were; you simply could not see me."

That caught my attention and buoyed me from my sea of ecstasy long enough to laugh and inquire, "A whole month, really?"

"Over, actually." He admitted lightly.

"It bothered you that much?"

"You have no idea! It began to drive me mad! Every time I saw the two of you together I seethed with rage. And the comedy of it all was that I could not understand why it vexed me so. Until I spied the two of you behind that set, and saw him place his hands upon your waist." My vision was still struggling in the dark, yet I could see as his face took on a mask of anger I had never beheld before; as I watched his golden eyes turned to liquid amber.

"Then I saw you lean into him, clearly enjoying his touch. I saw as an accompanying smile played across your face, and then – then I was trapped, looking on as he placed his hand upon your neck to draw you near and kiss you." The agony of witnessing the scene was as blatant in his voice, as in his kaleidoscopic eyes, which even now turned a deep ocher.

"It was as I watched his undeserving lips meet yours that I learned the root to all my current woes. I did not want him to touch you, to kiss you because . . . I wanted to. You were mine, you belonged to me! I wanted you for my own." He sighed heavily with shame.

"The instant that epiphany claimed me, I realized . . . my whole life had changed."

"I believe you afford me far too much credit," though I knew he had unfortunately not.

"Ha!" He scoffed. "As though I could ever give you excess credit; you know full well that you are the only reason my heart still beats within its miserable cage. Without you . . . there is nothing for me. So no, of course I am not giving you too much credit, mon cher.

"You had unknowingly turned my life, before void of any semblance of romance, upside down on its axis. And for the first time, in so very long, I felt a spark of hope. Maybe I was worthy of love. You had, after all, accepted me since you were a child and had not fled me. Perhaps, if I gave you time, led up to the 'reveal' so to speak, you would, _could_, accept me for what I was."

A self-effacing smile raised to his lips, "Perhaps I should have never allowed myself to desire you in such a way; but I fear it could no more have been prevented than the rising of the sun. I do wish however, for your sake, that my affections would have remained what they were when you were a girl.

"When you were a little girl – I could have you then, could declare you mine in a way that no one else would." He paused, somehow sensing the infinitesimal flinch which must have passed over my windowpane face. Being an orphan and realizing no one wanted you, was not an easy burden to bear.

"Christine – I'm sorry. I was not thinking before I spoke. It was insensitive of me."

"Oh, no, Erik I am acting childishly. After all these years such benign words should not bother me. It is not as though my poor father had wanted to leave."

He was propped upon one elbow, peering down on me; his free hand soothingly caressing me.

"That is very true, my love. At least you had not been discarded, as so many are. All I meant to convey before was that, when you were a child and you held my heart, there was nothing wrong with the love I had for you then. When things changed, I did as well. I began to go a little insane with my need for you. And then – when Raoul entered your life and so effortlessly stole your heart – the insanity engulfed me fully. I know that I would have lost myself if were not for you."

"Me?" I asked astonished. I could not fathom being his savior when I had always cast myself as executioner.

His ember eyes burned brighter as I watched, and his caress had too, taken on new fire.

"That night, the one I know which we would all like to erase from our memories, that night I had come so close to certain hell." He sat there lost in reflection, his hands still pleasantly caressing me.

Pulling from his thoughts, he spoke. "That was the night, you rescued me. I was not to be forsaken. When you were willingly prepared to give up everything to be mine, that still was not enough to satiate me, but when you placed your lips upon mine, that was when I knew . . . I would have to let you go. If I ever had a chance at redemption setting you free was the only choice I could make.

"You were never been meant to be destined to the darkness which claimed me eternally. Not you, the most exquisite creature of light. I could not and I would not, banish you to an eternity of night. So, I released you to that insolent boy, knowing that it was what right, what was best. That was all I had ever wanted – your happiness, my angel."

"Can you not tell that I am happy now in your arms?"

Our bared skins were enticingly warm against one another. I was content in that moment.

"Now is now and then was then." He was holding back, but I was so happy to be ensconced within his arms that I was not about to ruin it.

"I'm happy with now, are you?"

"Yes," he at last relented with a heavy woeful sigh. "As long as you remain mine alone for this one night."

"I would remain yours forever if only you would ask."

"I am. I'm asking you for tonight." His feline eyes bore into mine, as he beseeched, "Be mine tonight, Christine. Tell me that you will."

He had to have known that I could never have refused him in any way or in any thing. There was no need to respond with words when my lips said everything I sought to convey. Again I was helplessly submerged in a sea of blissful ecstasy as his body leaned into mine and he took my mouth in his to bestow such a kiss that I would have thought it a thing of fiction, for it was too perfect; too beautiful. It was there, in that blissful state that my sea of ecstasy fully engrossed me, pulling me under, refusing to relinquish its rapturous hold.

***Author's note: Hey guys! Thanks SO MUCH for all the reviews, they really are the only thing that keeps this procrastinator writing, lol! Once again, this is a chapter that I haven't gotten the chance to edit yet, so please bear with its faults ;) (It's now been edited by my 'official' beta, Grayskies29!) I'm really not sure where this is going. I had only intended to make this a short story, writing out just my version of the "Beneath A Moonless Sky" Which you'll know I you were referred here from my YouTube Channel – I sing (I'm no Christine, though I have covered a few Phantom songs on my channel) and blog, you can find me here: .com/Roswell1828Channel .  
But now, I'm not so sure I'm going to end the story after the song, or where the song says the story ends. Do you guys want me to write out my whole version of "Love Never Dies"? I know some of you don't like the idea of Erik going to Coney Island, but I must warn you that if I do continue, I will be bringing him there. I literally grew up on Coney Island, so the local is very near and dear to my heart; plus I have massive amounts of knowledge about Coney in its heyday, which might prove helpful, lol! **

**K, I rambled enough now, lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the reviews ;)**

**xo**

**-Shannon **


	4. Erik: Salvation

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Erik:**____"Salvation"_

Was there anything more exquisite than this? If there was, I could not fathom it.

She _wanted_ me, was taking me. All of me, she demanded it. By God, I was more than willing to give into her, to submit like a mongrel to her every whim. I coveted her with a need which greatly surpassed that of her own. All I had done was stroke her and kiss her faultless lips, as I had always wanted, but it was enough to stir her profoundly My touch was driving her mad as it was myself.

"Do not leave me, Erik. Swear it!" Her voice was a deep murmur of plight, despondent desperation over-riding all else.

"I swear it."

Her coffee colored eyes met mine, the trust emanating from within them nearly destroyed me.

I would not think about the morning, about the right and wrong of the situation. Tonight I would banish such thoughts from my mind and give in to all that I desired, to hell with the consequences.

I bent my hungry mouth to her breast, and though I had often dreamt of such delights, I had never dared imagine I might one day act on them. I had all but evaporated as the sound of her rapturous sighs rang in my ears. Her ecstasy laden voice was sweeter than any music than I could have ever dreamed.

"Dear God, Christine. You have no idea what it does to me when I hear you murmur so from my touch. I desire nothing more than to take you and never leave from within you."

"Take me, and do not leave." She was begging again, this time with a completely different need and urgency than before.

I pressed my lips to hers in answer. The longer we kissed, the more ravenous my hunger turned. I began kneading her mouth roughly, more demanding. She gave no protest. She returned my affections with an even more potent degree of want than I. Her petite hands caressed, and pulled at me with more strength than I had ever thought possible. The harder she clutched, the more brutally I assaulted her lips.

"I want you. Oh God, help me – I want you!" I felt like a gargoyle about to tear an angel from its ecclesiastical wings. I was loathsome for defiling her in such a way, yet utterly unable to stop it from happening.

"Take me, for I am already yours."

I did not need another word to prompt me forward. I removed the last of our clothes. I looked down upon her naked body below mine; her beauty so very resembled that of a mythical Greek goddess that I had to take a moment of silence to fully appreciate it, for it was almost too much to stand.

"Exquisite," I was in awe. I had never thought there could be any rival to the loveliness of her angelic face, but her siren's body was without doubt its equal.

With a voracious fire of need, I entered her, heard her sigh of delight, and knew that I was at last whole.

Always a shadow in the night, I had seen lovers furtively make love before and was aware of what it entailed. I had seen the look of bliss that graced their faces as each ascended heights of pleasure I could only imagine but I had never anticipated that the climb would be just as breathtaking. I was consumed with joy. I had not expected it to be so divine.

For the first time in my life, I was home.

I felt no shame as I moved within her, or as I took her with a ravenous fervor. There was no sense of embarrassment for the acts committed. All I could feel was the crushing desire to stay there always. I wanted to remain inside her forever, warm and secure with contentment. Yet, I knew I that I could not.

As that devastating truth was made clear, Christine's body rocked, demanding a new, more furious tempo than the current. No sooner had I obliged then she cried out, her frame pleasantly quivering beneath mine. The tiny fragments of self control that had remained were drained from me, as were my woes. I had poured them into her and she had willingly accepted, welcomed them even.

I had attained my solace.

We held each other in the dark, our hearts rhythmically beating out the dying notes of our passionate composition. I knew that I would never have it again, the harmony that her comfort brought. There was one night alone which I could greedily have my fill of relief. Before I could form another rational thought, I was taking her again. She gasped, but quickly succumbed, again both lost in rapture, hearing a melody that only we could hear.

I was measured this time, wanting to linger in paradise for as long as able. I touched and tasted every part of her, and delighted in the sounds of her cries as she again shuddered beneath me. I didn't give her a moment to recover as I brought my lips again to hers and burrowed deeper into her warmth. She whimpered, and I slowed, gently rocking us back and forth, but she would have none of it. She clutched my back in need, and almost brought me over that sweet precipice of joy, as her unabashed need had us devouring one another in a frenzied dance of souls.

I pulled away and brought my lips to the hollow of her throat and sampled my way to her navel, where I languorously relished in the sweetness of her milky skin. I was lost in the exploration of her flawless skin when I felt her searching hands weave their way into my hair, and with the fervor that matched my own, pulled me into her.

I was there with her, in that primal time of need, and all the years of intellectual evolution had disappeared. We were no more than Neanderthals, taking and demanding without thought, acting solely on the instinct that ruled us. I could hold back no longer, and though I experienced that overwhelming sense of release, it was not without sorrow. I would never lie with her again, and if it was not to be with her, then it would be with no one. We lay side by side, completely still, both contemplating what had just transpired and what it meant.

"I love you." I wanted to cry from the beauty of its sound.

I had sworn that I would not lie to her and I would not – nothing I could ever utter would be as true as my next words. "I love you, Christine."

I gently kissed her doll-like lips and brought her head back down to rest upon my chest. "Hush now, my love and sleep." I reached for my discarded cloak and lay it across us.

It was early yet, and there was still time. I could allow myself this one last pleasure. I had never fallen asleep next to another human being, and this human was not just any. Christine was the only one who mattered, was the only one I wanted. She was the only one I would ever want. I was certain that no matter the years that would pass, or the hurt it would undoubtedly cause, I would love her with the same intensity as I did in that moment unto death.

I closed my eyes, finally letting go and fell asleep. It was no more than an hour, but in that short span of time I had a dream which would haunt me forever.

_It was Christine – luminous in white. It was our wedding, she was my wife! Married – to Christine – I was envisioning my utopia. I had dreamt of the day on which I would proclaim her mine to the world, the day we would be joined and bound for eternity. Nothing could take her from me then. But that there was no one there, had not escaped me. There was not a soul in sight. . . ._

_Time altered again. . . ._

_She was pregnant! My beautiful girl was round and full with __**my**__ child. The splendor of such a vision forced me to forget the missing acquaintances, that before, had so troubled me. For I was going to be a father! She glowed healthy and radiant, no sign that anything might be amiss. That's when it struck me._

_What if the baby was not healthy, was not __**normal**__ – what then? _

_I could not stay lost in that sentiment of uncertain panic, for time distorted again. . . ._

_I was in a lamp lit room, looking on as Christine gave birth, a midwife crouched by her side._

"_Push now, lassie! Push!"_

_Christine looked on the brink of death. Sweat rolled down her wan face, and elicited such screams of agony that my soul splintered upon hearing them. She was such a fragile creature, I was frightened that this would be the death of her._

_That was not all that I had to fear – a new and more potent horror was upon me. I knew it the very moment I heard the shriek of terror from the midwife._

_Then I heard __**it**__ cry. _

_Such a sound, my God! It tore at me and ate away the fractured remnants of my soul. I could not look, and yet I had no choice. _

_Hideous. _

_Monstrous._

_Grotesque. _

_An Abomination. _

_All the things I knew myself to be. Of course my son – for that is indeed what he was – would be cursed as well. How could I have ever believed otherwise. . . .\_

_Time again, moved before my eyes. . . ._

_The unimaginable was happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Helpless, I was helpless. Christine was dying, bleeding out on our bed and there was nothing to be done. The midwife had fled from the house, leaving the crying creature to scream out its eerily melodious wails alone at the foot of the bed. _

_**Nothing . . . There is nothing I can do, not for any of us. . . .**_

_The same thought played in my mind, over and over, allowing me to think of nothing else. I was trapped in a worse hell than I had ever fathomed exist._

"_Let me see him. I beg you . . . let me hold him." Her voice was all but inaudible, she was fading so rapidly, but I heard her plea and it broke through my despair._

_I should have never agreed, but I could resist her in nothing. I carefully picked the gruesome little bundle up and when I did, it ceased its cries. I froze and looked down upon the creature of my worst nightmares, an exact replica of myself, and silently I wept. It would live just as I had, cursed for the duration of its miserable life. _

_What had I done?_

"_Erik, __**please**__."She spoke with more force, though her weak words hardly reached me._

_I knew time was running short, she only had a moment or two remaining, yet I could not make my legs take me to her any faster than the snail's pace in which they were moving. I was hesitant to let her see, not wanting her last minute on this earth to be one of disgust. _

_However, I had nothing to fear._

_I placed the small, swathed thing on her chest, helping wrap her feeble arms around it, and watched as her face, now a colorless death mask, lit with happiness the moment it was in her hold._

"_My baby – my sweet baby."_

_Amazing._

_She cooed at it as though there was no distortion at all, as though it was not the monster it indeed, was. Yet, why should she not treat it so? After all, she had been able to see past my monstrosities. Of course, she would love it, just as she loved me. _

_My son had a mother, unlike I, who loved him, And he would never know her._

_It was over. He slipped from her hands; I grasped him before he could fall to the ground, and she was gone. Christine, the reason for my life, was dead. All that was left was the child I had never wanted, and the life that I would never have chosen._

_I screamed – screamed with the agony of a thousand burning souls. I wished for death. I wanted nothing more than to die. . . ._

I woke to find myself lying on the cold ground, Christine still asleep beside me. She was alive, she was fine.

It was a dream, just a dream. But one that only affirmed what I had known before bedding her – what I had always known – I would have to leave her. I could not stay, it was an unwavering certainty. There was no choice, no delusions remaining of living our lives together. I did not want to leave her – God, I did not! – yet, I could never stand by and watch my nightmare become a reality, as I was now unquestionably sure it would.

With a heart of lead, I lifted her head from my chest, careful not to stir her and making sure to keep her covered in my cloak, I stood. I quickly dressed, sought the lantern I had taken with me to what I had believed to be my final resting place, and placed it beside her. She would need some illumination to find her way out of the depths and back to her Comte.

It killed me, ate at me like a plaque of maggots, made me sick to think about it. I knew that she would return to him, for where else could she go? But my mind, my body, vehemently rejected the notion. Yet, I was leaving her with no choice, because there was no other. This was how our opera would play out.

"Christine. . . ." I bent beside her, deftly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She looked so lovely, a resting peach of exquisiteness. She smiled in her sleep as I touched her.

"I do not want to leave you, my love. I must though, I must." No, she would not remember any of this, yet I had to speak it all the same.

"I cannot bear to stand by idly and watch the horror that your life will become if you remain with me. I refuse to submit you to such a fate. But know – please, know – that you have again saved me – and that I love you. I will love you forever."

"Goodbye, my angel."

I pressed my lips to hers for one last kiss; one to sustain me all the days of my life. I would see her again, not in this life, but I would see her. That was her parting gift to me. I no longer desired death in the face of a life without her. I would atone for all my wrongs, so that I might at last be with her in the beyond. Perhaps if I did that, God would grant me that one longing. It was all I could hope for. Yet, it was enough, for the notion of spending eternity with her, if not in this life, instilled in me the will to live, to thrive and to be all that I had never realized I could be.

I looked upon her sleeping form for the last time, praying that one day she might be able to forgive me. Then I slipped into night, before the sun could rise, beneath a moonless sky, knowing that I had found my salvation. . . .

***Author's Note: A HUGE THANK YOU goes out to grayskies29 for being such a FANTASTIC beta! THANK YOU :) She's helped me edit all my chapters thus far (go back and check them out, I just uploaded the previous chapters that have been edited now). **

**I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter and find it steamy, but tasteful, lol! I'm all about the characters and the story. While I love me some sex, lmao, it's not all that I want this to be about – though be on the lookout for more steamy scenes coming later (I am going to continue the story. I'm almost done with the next chapter).**

**Really, thank you all for the lovely reviews. As I said before, they're all that have kept this story going! Much love to you guys!**

**-Shannon***


	5. Christine: Reality

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Christine:**__"Reality"_

_Together._

_We were leaving the cold underworld of our past behind, tightly wrapped in each other's embrace. I could not have been happier. We walked out into the sunny streets of Paris and no one stared, no cared at all. It was though we were any couple in love. Though we were not any couple, and the streets which we roamed stood empty. I turned to ask Erik where everyone had gone, but before I could utter a word, he let go of my hand._

"_I must go now."_

_Panic engulfed me. "No, Erik – you cannot go! Do not leave me!"_

_Surely he would not leave, not now, not after. . . ._

_But he continued to step backwards, the distance between us growing by the second._

"_Please, I'm begging you, Erik – do not leave me!" I was sobbing, my heart being battered and broken within its cage._

_He did not say a word. He smiled once, turned and walked away. There was nothing I could do. I tried – always, I tried – to move, to stop him, but I never could . . . I was infuriatingly frozen in place._

"_Erik, please!" My weak plea was lost in the empty air._

_He was gone._

_I was alone, all alone._

_Then I felt a flutter of movement within me. My hand instinctively rested upon my still flat stomach. I was with child, I felt it. I was carrying __**his**__ child._

_And he had abandoned us. So it was no longer I who had lost him, but also the child who would never know him. . . ._

I awoke alone in the forbidding gloom of my darkened room, and quickly ignited the light upon my nightstand. Its orange glow relieved a mere fraction of the anxieties that held me in their icy grasp. I inhaled deeply, trying in vain to quiet the racing of my heart.

For ten years the same nightmare plagued me night after night. Yet, waking from it was far worse. That heinous nightmare –was _my_ reality.

He had left, though not in the manner of the nightmare and I had not known at the time that I was pregnant, he had still vanished and there was nothing I could do. I awoke that morning to swear my love, and had found him gone instead. I was by myself in the cellar's depths. I could make out the gold band, and the broken shard of ivory; they too, lay abandoned on the floor. All of us, unwanted.

Betrayed. Used.

Two emotions ruled me as I lit the lantern left for me and dressed: disbelief and confusion. I could not fathom how he had been able to leave; had he not felt what I had? I could not comprehend his actions – not till much later. With time came reflection, wisdom and experience. I realized he had left to save me. In his mind he was somehow sparing me. I had no idea if he was alive or dead, but not knowing ate at me every moment of every day. There was no way that the Comtess de Chagny could go about inquiring after the whereabouts of a masked man, whose surname was unknown. That would appear odd, to say the least, and if Raoul found out he would be livid. Neither Erik's name, nor his existence was mentioned in our house; even though it felt as though he was always lingering, still watching somewhere in the wings.

I was not whole without him. I tried every day to alter that, but I could not. What hurt the most was that it was clear he did not want me – whatever the reason, it was a fact. I would not search him out and beg, though how I could have accomplished that when I did not know where he was, or _if_ he was still alive, was an impossible feat. Even if I had known where to find him, I would not grovel for his return. I was no longer that pathetic, fragile little girl.

I was a mother.

_Gustave, my miracle._

He was indeed my miracle, for there was a time when it seemed as though he was perhaps not meant to be. Accident, upon accident beset me during my pregnancy. First a carriage accident, then a horrible fall down a flight of stairs – that broke my arm and a finger. Then, finally I tripped in the middle of a crowded street, which thus put me into early labor – two months early, to be precise. All of these 'accidents' had nagged at my ever present fears.

What if they weren't accidents, but signs? Signs which conveyed that the child I carried was better off not coming into the world. . . .

But I would not give in to my fears, for it did not matter. There could be nothing so wrong with _my_ baby that would ever cause me to believe that it would have been better off dead. Even if . . . even if it was clear that it was not Raoul's, and I would have to admit the truth that I had sworn I would never wound him with. None of it mattered, I would still love my child above all else.

My fears were unfounded; there was nothing to dread. My Gustave was perfect in every way. He was more than that – a child prodigy, like his father. I lived in constant fear that one day Raoul would figure it out. It was a sweet mercy of God that my Gustave was born with fair skin and blonde hair – he reminded me of my father in a way, just one of the many reasons he was named Gustave. Yet how his eyes had never tipped Raoul off was a plain miracle in and of its self.

His stunning orbs were colored the shade of fine honey with a ring of bright amber that surrounded black pupils. At first, that shocking ring of amber never left his eyes, but as he began to grow the brilliancy of the color faded and was only visible whenever Gustave felt deeply about something. Whether it be fear, anger, sorrow, or happiness – whatever the emotion, if it was strong enough, that elusive amber would burn bright.

I knew exactly where the unusual amber hue had come from – _who_ it had come from – but I did not need to fret on it for long. The minute Raoul saw _our_ son, he right away contributed it to the fact that his father had a quite radiant shade of brown and so naturally, that was where Gustave must have gotten the color from.

I never argued the fact; I simply nodded and had said, "Yes, that must be where he gets it."

The first time Raoul held Gustave in his arms, the smile he had elicited, and the happiness he had radiated, tore my heart. I vowed then that I would never reveal the truth to him – or anyone – there was simply no reason to hurt him if it could be avoided.

We tried very hard, both of us, to make the marriage a success. We fought so hard for so long and for a little while, after Gustave was born, things were tolerable, but they were never perfect. Erik haunted and shadowed our every thought and every moment, even in his absence. We had not left him behind. His potent presence was always there; a third, silent party to a marriage with room only for two.

Throughout my pregnancy I had remained despondent. I was lonely and miserably. I ached inside for what I could never have. And Raoul, dear Raoul, had tried in vain to give me anything and everything that I could ever have desired; not at all aware that he could never deliver the one thing I needed most. It was terribly unfair to Raoul to have wed a woman who was only a shell of what she had once been. He was fighting a losing battle and as much as I wanted to ease his frustration, I was incapable. I knew my deceit could never be forgiven, yet I can honestly tell you that at the time, I felt trapped into no other choice, what good would it do any of us if I revealed Gustave to be Erik's son, and not Raoul's.

It was not until Gustave arrived that I began to feel alive again.

He was the axis on which my whole world rotated. He was my little savior. From the instant that I held him, a new prolific sense of strength flowed in my veins. For the months that I was pregnant, I had felt unbearably lonely, but then I realized that I was not alone. I was responsible for another life, one far more precious than my own. My Gustave could not fend for himself, so I would have to. I would give him the world, if he so desired it.

I loved him instantly.

The very second I held him there was nothing but love for the fragile little life in my arms. I had been told that a mother's love is like that, but I did not understand it until I experienced it firsthand. I would have done anything for him, and I did.

He was a tiny infant – just five pounds. We hired a nurse until he was three months old, by then it was clear she was no longer going to be needed. His development was extraordinary – in every way. He spoke at five months, walked at six, and began reading and writing – poetry so beautiful it that it never ceased to tug at my heart – at three years. His rapid mental development boggled our physician, who finally summed it up to the will of God. I knew it was more that. I knew that he was just like his father; brilliant in every way.

I had sensed his musical abilities early on. The moment he could talk, he sang. Gibberish at first, always almost copying something he had heard from myself, but then he began singing melodies of his own, words all his own. They were beautiful. Such glorious sounds should never have been coming from a four year old; it was the year that he made me truly ache for Erik.

Two weeks after his fourth birthday, I sat at the piano and played a simple song Erik had taught me as a child – I had never been very talented when it came to playing, it had infuriated Erik to no end that I could sing as I did, yet was only a mediocre pianist – but Gustave was enjoying it so I went on. When I finished, Gustave begged, "Please let me hear you sing again, Mama! Please, just one more song!"

I was never able to resist him, his every want and desire I made a reality. I knew it was not healthy to spoil a child, but he was no ordinary child. He was _his_ child and he would have the world if he so willed it. One day my Gustave was going to be someone of great importance, and I could not wait to see what he would become.

I sang one last song, to which he applauded exuberantly afterward, and then I stood. "Come, angel, let us go eat lunch. I believe Dominique has prepared a rather delectable meal for us."

As I made my way for the door, I extended my hand for him to take, but he had not been listening. Instead, he was climbing with the dexterity of a monkey onto the piano stool.

"Gustave, come with your Mama. It's lunch, darling." I gestured him forward, the same arm waiting to take his little hand.

"Go on, Mama. I want to stay for a bit."

Before I could argue with him further, his tiny hands began to stroke the ivory keys with the skill of a master pianist. I stood frozen in awe, half in the room and half out. It was not some mere imitation; it was something he had created within the genius of his little mind. A melody so rich and poignant, it brought me to tears the minute I heard it. I thanked God for the small mercy of Raoul's absence, for the scene would have surely revealed the truth.

He finished, smiling in triumph.

I could not speak. Tears fell heavily from my astonished eyes. Why I was stunned with amazement, I did not know. I should have known from the very start that if he had inherited nothing else, the one trait that would come through above all, was the gift of music.

His cherub's face, that a moment ago had been alight, darkened when he saw my tearstained face. "What's wrong, Mama? Didn't you like it?"

Regaining what composure that I could, I smiled and walked toward him. I knelt down so I was face to face with him and said, "I'm fine, it was just so very beautiful, darling."

His little face turned red with modesty. "Oh, that? That was just something I heard."

"Where, my love?" I knew the answer but I had to hear him say it.

"In here." His dexterous little hands patted the top of his golden haired head.

_God so much like his father . . . when Raoul sees how he plays, not just plays but the beauty of the music that effortlessly flows from within him . . . ._

I took his small hands in mine. "Gustave, I want you to do your, Mama a favor, please."

"Anything, Mama." The love he shined on me was staggering; again, so much like his father.

I hated myself for asking him to lie, but I saw no other option. "Do not tell, Papa that you hear such things. Can you do that for your mama?"

His small brows furrowed in thought. "But why Mama, why must I lie to, papa?"

He was so damn smart. "Because Gustave . . . sometimes . . . sometimes we must lie to those we love in order to spare them the hurt the truth will bring. If Papa knows about the music it will pain him. I wish I could explain it better, my love, and one day I will – I swear to you that I will – but I for now, you must take my word."

Still silent.

"We shall share your gift with him in time. You must give Papa time first though; you know how long it takes him to adjust to anything, Gustave. Your talent is one so great that I fear he would not understand it, and the not understanding would cause him great woe. Can you see my angel?"

"Yes, and I don't want to hurt Papa, but does this mean that I can't play anymore?"

"No! Oh, not at all my angel. You can play for me whenever you like, for as long as you like, but until we tell, papa, it must always be while he is away."

He considered it, his mind ever working, yet another trait of his father's – Gustave always thought before he spoke.

"Okay, Mama. For now, it will be _our_ secret." The idea seemed to thrill him.

"Yes darling, our special secret." I hugged him tight, smiled and stroked his sun kissed hair, and loathed myself the entire time. I was a liar, and worse than that – I had coaxed him into lying along with me.

My innocent partner in crime. . . .

It was three more years before Raoul heard Gustave play; I had put it off for as long as I could. Then his passion for music grew so great that I could no longer stifle it. We still had to lie, of course, and told Raoul that Gustave had been secretly taking lessons. He never asked who the teacher was or to meet him; he simply accepted it, just as Gustave accepted he would once again have to lie to his father about who he really was.

"I never expected him to master is so quickly, but he seems to have a real ear for it." I lied further, as Raoul watched and listened in wonder.

"With a mother whose voice is a gift from God, I am not surprised to find our son so naturally musically inclined." He smiled, strode to Gustave and congratulated him, seeming perfectly at ease with Gustave's gift.

He would never listen to the child play again.

There were times, fleeting moments, when I would find him inspecting Gustave, sizing him up, trying to find something, and in those moments I wanted to die of shame. It was no wonder we had drifted so far apart it was hard to evenly steer a ship when it was split in two and hopelessly sinking.

Now, ten years later and things had only gotten worse. We were all drowning in a harsh sea of our own making.

A knock on my bedroom door pulled me back to the present.

I sat up. "Come in."

_Raoul._

He was worse for wear, apparently once again loosing himself in brandy.

"Couldn't sleep either, I see." I hated when he drank, it made his usually sunny personality dark, irritable and noxious.

"No." It was best to keep to one word, one sentence responses when he was in his current state.

He stumbled his way in, closing the door behind him. "Nightmare again?"

"Yes."

"The one you refuse to tell me about? The very one you have had for ten straight years now?" he sat down with a dramatic plop upon the edge of the bed.

"Raoul, please–"

"Please, what? Why will you not tell me? What have you to hide . . . what are you so afraid of?" The hurt in his navy eyes outweighed the cruelty of his tone.

I could tell there was no escaping a fight, yet I would try anyway.

"Darling, I've told you before that it's nothing, just a childhood fear and it embarrasses me to speak of it."

He turned away from my lying face in disgust. He placed his flaxen haired head in his hands and sighed. "Why, Christine? Why must we play these games?"

Silence.

"What nothing to say, little Lotte?" His voice was ice.

'Please Raoul, let's not argue. I promise you will understand in time."

"Damn time!" He roared, jumping from the bed and pacing the floor; a caged petulant tiger. "I'll tell you about time, Christine! It is a never ending play of pain. Day after day, I wait for the wife that should have been mine to materialize, and she never does! There is only _you_ – a ghost of the girl whom I loved."

He ceased his striding, slumped down on the end of the bed, and began to weep. I had never seen him cry; not in ten years of marriage had he ever shed a tear; not even when Gustave had been born. There was something gut-wrenching about watching a grown man weep. It caused my armor to crumble and I found myself pulling the blankets aside so that I could go to him.

I sat beside him and slowly removed the hands that were covering his face. He stiffened from the feel of my uncommon touch, but did not pull away.

"Raoul, please do not cry! You know that I love you! I may not be the same girl, but I do love you!" It wasn't a lie. I did love him. The problem was that there were all different kinds of love, and what I felt for him, not only paled in comparison for I felt for _him_, but I was not _in love_ with Raoul. Once upon a time, very long ago, before _that_ night, a part of me had been in love with him. But things had regretfully changed.

"Do you, Christine? Do you really?" A pathetic spark of hope brightened the gloomy navy of his eyes to the glorious azure I was so familiar with.

"Yes." No, not lying . . . just skirting around the truth a bit that was all.

He needed no further words of encouragement. Before I could register it, his lips had mine in a devilish dance of desperation. He was begging for the one thing that I could not afford him. He wanted back that girl he spoke of; the one whose red scarf he had fetched from the sea when they were only children, but he was right . . . that girl was dead, and I only her shadow. I could not give him that girl, but I could give him me if he wanted me and perhaps alleviate some of his woes. I kissed him back with all the passion I was capable of.

"Christine, I love you, and I want you! God, so much so that there are times I feel as though I could kill you for not wanting me!"

In a rush of fury, he removed his jacket and his shirt, and then his demanding lips were again ravishing mine. I tried to give into the moment, but I felt as though I was betraying someone; a silly notion. And yet, when he opened the two top buttons of my nightgown, to kiss the skin beneath, I tensed.

It did not go unnoticed.

"Do you find me so repulsive now, Christine?" He backed away, the hurt blatant in face and voice.

"No, Raoul – please, it has just been a long time. I am rusty at it – that is all." I tried to laugh it off, but it was no use. He saw through the façade. How I wished then that I had been a better actress than I was a singer.

"It's been so long because of you! Because you show me every day that you do not want me!"

He was absolutely right, though I would never admit it. I did not go out of my way to be near him any longer. The man he had become was someone I cared not to be around. What pained me so severely was that I was part of the cause he had sunk so low.

"Please, darling I just need – I need some time that is all. We just need to take things a little slower. Stay, do not go."

"No." He put his shirt back on, grabbed his jacket and stood. "I'm done with this, Christine. I am so very tired of begging for _my wife_ to love me, to not draw back in disgust from my touch! I cannot do this any longer."

I reached for him. "Raoul, please!"

He backed away from me as though I were diseased.

I had hurt him yet again, and his pain stabbed sharper than any knife. A tear fell from my welling eyes. Could I do nothing right?

"Do not, Christine." He said holding up a hand in warning. "Please, just do not. It's done, leave it alone. I am sorry that I bothered you with my presence. I am, however sure that there is someone out there who will not find my touch quite as revolting as you." He was hurting, and so he wanted me to hurt, too. I could not blame him for his stinging comment.

He opened the door with a great flourish and nearly knocked poor Gustave to the floor in his haste to flee me.

"Gustave! What do you want – what are you doing here?" Raoul was coarse and harsh; the drink made him angry at the world, and Gustave had still not grown used to his abrasiveness. He looked on the verge of tears.

"I – I had a nightmare and wanted to see if I could sleep with Mother tonight."

"Unbelievable! Two peas in a pod, I tell you!" Raoul turned to throw me a scathing glance. "Well, at least someone will get to sleep with you." He pushed past Gustave and disappeared down the hall, back to the brandy bottle, I was sure.

I quickly wiped the tears from eyes, not wanting to upset Gustave anymore than necessary, buttoned my gown back into place, and I called him forward. "Come, my love – come to me."

He closed the door slowly, and with his head hung low made his way to the bed where he climbed in under the covers next to me.

"What's troubling you, my angel?" I stroked his satin like hair, wanting desperately to sooth the anxieties that played on his little face. He laid his head on my chest, gladly accepting the comfort.

"I had the worst nightmare, Mother. It was so very dreadful that I couldn't fall back asleep. I decided to come to you but when I went to knock on your door . . . I heard you and Father arguing. So I stood there. I know that I should never eavesdrop, but the way Father speaks to you lately mother . . . well it – it angers me." His little hands, so capable in any task they had ever taken on, clenched into fists at his side.

He had his father's temper at times, of that there was no denying. "Easy now, Gustave. You know that, Papa does not mean anything he says or does when he has had too much to drink."

I continued to caress his head and hold him to me, and as I did so I saw his hands relax, the anger subsiding.

"Do you love him?"

_Must he always be so perceptive? _

"Of course I love your father, Gustave. Why on Earth would you ever ask such a question?"

His tawny brows furrowed. "Because of what I heard Father say about you not wanting him."

"Gustave, I told you that you cannot listen to anything your father says when he is–"

"Yes, I know, but . . . he looked so sad, Mother. It may not be true, but I think that he thinks that it is." This troubled him. Not only capable of remarkable accomplishments, he also held more compassion and love within in him than anyone I had ever known.

"I do love your father Gustave, truly I do." I did not want to lie, but he was as of yet, too young to understand the complexity of the love I felt for Raoul.

"Sometimes . . . it seems as though you do not love him as you love me."

There he had me.

"No, my angel, you are right. I do not love him as much as I love you."

"Why, Mother?" This seemed to both please and pain him.

"Because you are part of me, you are made of my flesh and my blood. I held you within me. I will never love anything as I do you, not even your father." I smiled and kissed his cherub's cheek.

"You really do love him, right?" He asked, still perturbed by the idea of his mother not loving his father.

"Yes, I do. But you, Gustave – _you_ are my life."

He smiled widely. "And you're mine, Mother. But please promise to show Father that he is loved, too. I know that he loves you very much. That is why he drinks, to ease his pain."

_Really . . . must he always be so damn perceptive? _

I laughed; I had to for otherwise I would have cried. "Yes, my love – I promise to show your father more affection, alright, satisfied?"

"Yes, Mother."

How one so small could be so vastly wise beyond his years, was baffling.

"Now, my little man – tell me about this dreadful nightmare you had."

"I'm not sure that I want to tell you." He dropped his gaze from mine and stared at his hands clasped upon his lap.

"You know you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, it would never sway my love for you. So, please Gustave, tell me." I smiled, wanting him to confide in me.

"It was so odd, mother so very odd." He paused, I waited for him to go on, but he did not.

"What was so odd about this dream, darling?"

"It was as though I was there, like it was real and not just a dream. It felt like I was in someone else's mind, and not my own. The things I saw, such hurtful, horrible things, Mother. I didn't just see them, I _felt_ them. All I wanted to do was escape and I could not. There was nothing I could do to stop any of it." I felt him shudder beside me.

With baited breath I asked, "What was the dream about?" His behavior was truly beginning to make me uneasy.

"Mother, I'm really not sure you want to hear it."

"Please Gustave, tell me." I never before had to coax him in such a manner; he usually came to me for everything, and never before had hesitated to speak him mind.

Finally, he relented and spoke. "I dreamt about _you_."

"Me?"

"Yes, and Father, before I was born. I saw you sing on stage for a full theater, all those people sitting and loving your voice as much as I. You were you young and so very beautiful." A wide smile filled his face. "That's when Father fell in love with you; the first time he saw you perform on stage. He hadn't seen you since you both were very young. When Father heard you sing, you stole his heart. I could feel what he was feeling, and it was wonderful!"

He paused, his face suddenly darkening.

"What is it, Gustave?" My mouth was so dry, my voice so hoarse that the words barely left me.

"There was this _man_. . . ."

_My, God! How can he know all of this?_

Somehow I held myself together enough to ask, "What man?"

"A man with . . . half of his face missing." He looked up at me, calculating my reaction. Whatever he saw there made him secure in continuing. "I couldn't see his face clearly, only for a moment when he removed . . . _something_, I couldn't tell what it was. Most of the time his face was a blur. This man – he was in love with you, too. Only . . . when I felt what he was feeling . . . Mother the love that this man felt inside for you, it was so much stronger than what Father was feeling. That bothered me, but before I could blink, I was angry. So angry that I wanted to hurt something, or someone; but it wasn't me, it was that man. He was filled with anger because you were going to leave him for Father, and that he couldn't allow."

Once again, Gustave was silent, recalling a dream, one that should never have been possible for him to have. He looked into my eyes then, seeming to search for something within them, perhaps a sign that I was not simply dismissing all that he said as nonsense.

I smiled and kissed his forehead. "I'm listening, darling. Tell me everything; it might make you feel better."

"That man . . . he did terrible, horrible, awful things . . . and they were all done so that he could keep you. He tried to kill Father and the evils that he spoke to you . . . He knew his voice was as good a weapon as any – at least on you, and so he used that, he used anything he could think of to keep you. He tried to win you every way that he could think of and when that didn't work, he went mad." His eyes welled with tears.

"Angel, what is it?" He was upset and so I was upset.

"He was hurting so badly, Mother. How he didn't die from the loneliness and sorrow, I do not know. He was a dreadful man, but at the same time . . . he wasn't. He only wanted to be loved . . . by _you_. To him you were everything. What he felt then, I could understand. Because you, Mother – you are everything to me, too." He smiled sadly at me once then dropped his gaze back down to his hands.

The tears I fought so hard to hold back broke through their confines to course down my flushed face. There was not one thing I could do to stop them. Gustave did not notice my tears for he was lost in the events of his nightmare. I wiped away the tears as fast as they fell.

"He took you then, down below into his world – it was unlike anything I have ever seen, Mother. It was so strange and dark, and yet . . . sort of beautiful. You didn't want to be there though, not like that – you wanted it to be your choice. Somehow he knew that, because that was what he made you do.

"Father came to rescue you, but he wasn't clever enough, or fast enough. Before Father was able to blink that man had a lasso around his neck, and there you were, crying, begging for Father's life. But he was so crazy by then, so insane with his love for you that he could not just let you walk away. You were going to have to make a choice. Him or Father. And Mother . . . again, I felt sorrier for that man, felt more kinship with him than you or Father. He couldn't bear the thought of you leaving. I could understand that because . . . I don't know what I would ever do without you." The intensity with which he said that frightened me.

"But he did let you go, even though it hurt so bad he wanted to die." The amber rings in his eyes were alight with intensity" He loved you enough to let you go." He seemed profoundly amazed by that, as though the idea completely escaped him.

I did not want to endure another moment of this if it was not necessary, so selfishly wanting to sped the torture up, I said, "Well, it was only a dream, darling; a dreadful one, but a dream none-the-less." I tried to smile through my tears, but I could never hide my woes from Gustave for long. His small hand gingerly wiped away the tears that clung to my damp cheeks; saying and expressing more love in that one gesture than all the words in the world ever could. Again, so much like his father.

"I've made you sad, Mother. I am sorry. I did say that I didn't want to tell you about it."

"No, my love, it is not you who has made me sad, I am just sad for you. I am sorry you had such a wretched dream, but it is not _you_. I always want you to confide in me – no matter what it might be about. It is just . . . sometimes you remind me so of your father." At this, I smiled with genuine warmth.

That brightened his mood. "Really, I do? But Father's always saying how much like you I am."

I prayed – as I was about to lie – that one day God would forgive me my weakness.

"Yes, you are like me in many ways, but not all. There are times when you remind me of him so much . . . it takes my breath away."

He smiled, but then his brows once again furrowed in deep concentration. Something was still troubling him, I could tell.

I sat up a little more in the bed, pulling him along with me, and turned to face him. "Was there more that you wanted to tell me, angel? More to the dream?" While I didn't relish hearing it, if it would ease his discomfort then I must.

"Yes, but I'm afraid to tell you. You might not like it." He whispered, again not meeting my gaze.

"I told you before, Gustave that there is nothing in this whole world which you could ever confess that would make me love you less. I said it and I mean it. Now. . ." I lifted his chin, forcing him to look into my eyes; I wanted him to trust me. "Tell me the rest."

"I know that I told you before how the nightmare was odd because I felt like I was in someone else's body, and how I was able to feel and not just see the things going on around me, but the oddest part about it all was that I felt more similarity with that man than I have with . . . anyone. Even stranger still was right after you kissed that man, Mother. He . . . he _looked_ at me."

"Looked at you?" The hair on my neck was on end.

He stared right at the spot I was standing, he squinted a bit, but he didn't say anything. Then he turned back and. . . ."

"And? . . ."

"He let you go, and it killed him to do it. Oh, Mother the pain, the terrible ache that he felt – it was the worst thing I have ever felt!" He hung his little head and wept.

"Shh, don't cry! Oh, sweetheart, it's okay! It was only a dream – just a dream!" I took him in my arms and we rocked to and fro.

"What's wrong with me, Mother? Why would I dream such dreadful things, and why would I feel so close to that man – who did such awful things – does that make me just as horrible?" He sobbed with more intensity, his true worries coming to the surface.

I stroked his back. "There is no rhyme or reason to a dream, darling. They do not reflect, or mean anything. They are a series of subconscious fears, anxieties and troubles that are mixed with all the things we have ever absorbed in our lives. All those components are then woven into a story, that we, ourselves, unknowingly are the writers of."

His tears had stopped and he confessed, "I've had many dreams before, Mother – and many nightmares, as well – but none were ever like this. This was the strangest thing that I have experienced."

"Only a dream, my love, it was a dream and nothing more."

"You're sure?" He pulled away from my embrace and searched my eyes. He was looking for the truth; he only wanted me to confirm that he was not crazy, that it was not just an ordinary dream but something else . . . and I could not give that to him. I would have to look into his pleading eyes and lie, _again_. One day I would confess the truth to him, but for now I had no other choice.

"Gustave, I promise you that it was only a dreadful dream and truly that it was nothing more." I kissed his warm cheeks, and leaned his head back down upon my shoulder. Having him in my arms was a heaven that I had never known would come with motherhood.

We lay there in silence for a while, yet inside I was terrified. I could not fathom how he had dreamt what he had. There was absolutely no way of him knowing any of it, let alone the intricate details which he had. He was told that Raoul and I had met as children and knew each other all our lives. He knew that I was orphaned, yes, and that I lived in the opera house where I sang for a short time before marrying his father, but that was all. End of story.

_Yet, he knew. How could he know. . . ._

Was he even more extraordinarily special than I could ever have thought, conjuring up the truth in some kind of telepathic way . . .?

"Mother?" I had believed him asleep.

"Yes, darling?"

"Reality . . . what is it exactly?"

"What do you mean, my love?" I looked into his eyes and saw a war of some kind waging deep within.

"Reality – the world in which we live, it can't be altered, right? I mean there's no way to ever change events that have happened, is there?"

"I'm still a bit confused, darling. Where is this all coming from?"

"It's just that – I know you say what I experienced was only a bad dream, but Mother – it felt so _real_. I almost wonder if someone, somewhere, fooled with time and changed our reality, and what I saw was the alternate to the one that we are in."

There were times that his mind had thoughts and ideas the likes of which I could never have contemplated. This was one of those times.

I hated myself for not being able to tell him that it was true, ever bit of it, but I could not. Yet, I could also not let him believe that there was such a thing as an alternate reality. He needed to learn now that we must do the best with what has been given to us because that is all we will ever be afforded. Reality, as much as we would all love to change it, cannot be altered.

"You have a marvelous imagination Gustave, but no; I do not believe that what you experienced was anything other than a very bad nightmare. Reality, unfortunately, is what it is. We could no more modify the sky's natural blue to purple, then we could bring the dead back to life. They are unchangeable."

"But why not? Why can we not change these things?" He was angry again, that betraying sphere of amber was burning bright within his eyes.

"Because there are just some things in this world, Gustave, to which we can never change, no matter how badly we might want to. We must always live for today and never take a minute for granted, for it is all we are given. Once an opportunity is lost, it is gone. Always promise me that you will live your life to the fullest, do understand?" I had not realized how hard my grip upon his arm had become until I looked down and saw. I released him, instantly. I hadn't meant to get so impassioned, but I knew the cold and lingering effect of regret and it was not something I sought for my son.

"I'm sorry, my love. I didn't mean to – I'm sorry."

I realized then that I had only spoken to him of the negatives, and not the positives. I smiled and added, "But of course, your mother is quite silly, and forgot to say that there are good things about not being able to alter reality."

He was curious. "Like what?"

"Love, for an example."

"Love?"

"Yes." I smiled. "Love never fades, it never dies and it endures all. Nothing can change love, not even death."

"I do not like death." About that, he was adamant.

I laughed. "No, nor do I or anyone else, for that matter. But we must believe that death is not the final goodbye, and that we will all see those that we love in Heaven."

"I hope there is a heaven – I hope that's a reality."

Again I laughed, but lightly this time, a touch of sadness coloring it. "Me, too, darling . . . me, too."

I brought him back into my arms and he remained quiet for a while, while he took it all in.

"I prefer dreams." He concluded, out of nowhere. "With dreams there are no rules and anything you can dream up is possible. I do not, however, enjoy _nightmares_." He laughed and I laughed with him.

"No, sweetheart, nor do I." In fact, I hated them.

"I suppose reality isn't so bad, though." He relented with a dashing smile. He was so handsome; God help the young girls in a few years time.

"Oh no and why is that?" I asked, as I tickled him, eliciting squeals of delight from my prisoner.

"Because you're in it."

I stopped dead, tickling forgotten. He looked up at me and the shimmering amber rings burned with love.

_God, I am so lucky to have him._

"Yes, darling, I too, agree. As long as I have you life is wonderful. Now let's get some sleep, shall we?" I smiled and bestowed one last kiss upon his cheek, and turned out the light. In the dark, I reflected on the reality of my life. I was twenty seven years old, no longer following any of my dreams and miserable in a life I had never imagined would be mine.

_Yes_, I thought. _I agree with you, Gustave, dreams __**are**__ more appealing._ . . .

***Author's Note: I know this was a long one, but I hope you're enjoying where I'm going with this. I'm going to loosely stick to the plot of Love Never Dies, but Gustave is my version of him, as are all the other characters. I'll be adding my own little twists along the way, too. Thank you all so much for taking the time to read, comment and favor the story :)! **

**A huge THANK YOU to my beta, Grayskies29 – You're the best ;)**

**-Shannon**

**Oh, yeah . . . I OWN NOTHING!!!! LOL ;)***


	6. Erik: Dreams

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Erik:**__"Dreams"_

Why night, after miserable night I had to endure the same dream, I did not know. Yet, there I was again reliving the worst months of my wretched life; that in and of its self spoke volumes. It was nothing other than a cruel jest of God.

The dream – or nightmare, for that's more accurate a term – began each night with the arrival of de Chagny. Before his unwelcomed appearance, everything was going as I had planned. Getting Christine to see past the mask would take time, but I was no longer afforded that luxury because he was swiftly stealing her from me. I knew then that I had to act quickly or I would lose her.

Thus ensued my reign of madness.

The dream was almost at its end. Just as it began with de Chagny's arrival, it always concluded when I pulled my lips from hers and let her go, but tonight was different. There was something wrong. The whole time I felt watched, as though performing on stage for an audience which I could not see. As the dream progressed, so too did the unshakable feeling that I was not alone.

Then I saw him.

It was a child. He stood upon the banks of Lake Averne; looking on as I broke from Christine's kiss to gape at him. It was a boy, of that I was certain, but try as I might, I could not make out his face. No matter how I tried to focus in on his features, the blur surrounding them would not clear.

His presence highly unnerved me. For ten years I had been enduring the same horror, the same torture, and the ghostly apparition of a child was never part of it.

I felt as though I gazed at him for an eternity, yet it was no longer than a fraction of an instant, for the next thing that I was watching was Christine walk away. What tore at me worse than anything else was that I knew she would return, and in the end, it would be I who would walk away. I had no one to blame but myself for throwing love away with both hands.

That was when I always awoke, in a sweat and alone . . . always alone.

But apparently not tonight.

"Do you never have one night of restful slumber?"

_Nadir Kahn. _

"What are you doing here, Daroga? I turned on the electric light beside my bed – electricity was a wondrous marvel – looked at the pocket watch upon my stand and saw the time.

"Nadir, really." I sighed, sitting up. "It's 4:30 am. Could this not have waited until a more reasonable hour?" Unfortunately, I knew the damn man and if he was here at such an hour, it was important.

"Why, were you planning on going back to sleep any time soon?"

No, I would not be going back to sleep, in all likelihood I would tinker on one of the new attractions I had in mind for the park – _my_ park. However, I was not about to let him know that.

"Well, if I had been, it is a rather moot point now, would you not say?"

"It is so refreshing to see that while the world around us has advanced so greatly in these past years, some things will forever remain the same. I see that you are cheerful as ever." He walked slowly – infuriatingly strolling about the room, his hands in his pockets, the very picture of ease; he was inspecting the surroundings like one taking a leisurely stroll through a museum of fine art.

"I must confess, Daroga – I have missed the high quality banter your presence brings, for no one delivers sarcasm as well. However, I am somewhat curious as to what you are doing here at such an early – or late, depending on how you view it – hour?"

I got out of bed, walked to the dresser where I turned my back to remove the cloth mask I adorned for sleep; I would never be caught without my mask again. In that one's place, I wore the mask I had worn for nearly half a century. I wrapped myself in the robe sprawled across the wooden chair and poured a glass of brandy.

I turned to Nadir. "Well?"

"A bit early for that, no?" he said, gesturing towards the glass held in my hand.

"Ah, as I said before, Daroga – a bit early or a bit late?" I held the glass up to the harsh white light beside my table, jostling its gold liquid, watching the miniature waves swell and crash within.

"Erik–"

I swallowed down my brandy in one gulp, its warm liquid a soothing elixir, and before he could go on I warned, "Do not, Daroga. I have missed your company far more than I had ever thought, but do not try my patience tonight. I have just had a rather curious dream and I am in no mood for your preaching." It was far too early for me to contend with Nadir and his infallible morals.

"Very well, my friend – that is a discussion we shall leave for another day." While he spared me his lecture, he did not spare me a look which said more potently than any words ever could, just how concerned for me he truly was.

I set down the empty glass. One drink had done the job; if I wanted to lose myself in a false world, I knew first hand that there were finer ways to accomplish it than alcohol.

Nadir walked to the leather armchair opposite me and hovered there. "May I?"

He was wearing on my last fraying nerve with his infernal patience.

"Of course, please make yourself at home. Would you care for some tea, some cake, perhaps?"

My inquiry dripped with sarcasm but he ignored it, laughed and said, "You know, some of that wonderful English tea that you always have would be–"

That was the last straw.

"Nadir – I swear if you do not tell me. . . ."

Laughing with more gusto than before he raised his hands in supplication. "I am sorry, my friend but it has been too long since I have had the pleasure of – how do the Americans say it – pushing your buttons? For after all, they are not that hard to push!" Again he laughed.

Amazingly – I found myself laughing along with him. The Erik of yesteryears would not have broken from his rage so rapidly. Maybe I was changing, after all. . . .

"No, Daroga, I am the one who should be apologizing. I am afraid that as hard as I have tried to quell my anger, it still takes hold of me on occasion." It was true. While my temper had calmed exponentially in the last ten years, in the four since Nadir's absence, I had found that the self control I had gained was beginning to wane. Without her, I was starting to question everything. I found that I was plagued by the same questions: _Did I make the right decision? Did I really _have_ to let her go?_

"It takes hold of the very best of us from time to time." He smiled warmly from his seat. "Now, let me tell you why I am here."

I could not wait to hear it, for whatever made Nadir Kahn come to Coney Island, now – I had all but begged him to join me two years prior, when I finally began realizing my dream of creating a world of amusement so mind-boggling the likes of it had never been seen, and he had adamantly said no – I was more than intrigued to discover.

"Things have been dull in Paris. I am growing quite bored with my life there. I thought that perhaps I shall join after all. I too, have missed your companionship."

"Give up the farce, Nadir. Why are you _really_ here?" He was good at many things, more than he gave himself credit for, lying however, was not among them.

He held out his hands in apology, a wide grin spreading across his face; he looked more worn than I had seen him in quite some time. "You have caught me, my friend. While it is quite true that I have grown tired of Paris and have genuinely missed you . . . it is not why I came. I am here because of a letter that I received, pleading for my help on your behalf."

"_My_ behalf?" And then I knew.

_Giry!_

The fire I felt engulfing me was evident in my eyes, for Nadir no longer looked comfortable in his seat as a faint line of sweat gleamed upon his brow.

Quickly he added, "Now Erik – calm down – she was only trying to help – she is concerned for your well being!" He could see I had figured out who had written the letter; how could he think that I would not!

Any attempt of managing my anger went out the door as I bent forward, picked up the wooden chair that I had removed my robe from, and hurled it across the room, smashing it to smithereens as it collided with the unforgiving wall.

"How dare she!" I was livid, absolutely seething with rage. The audacity of her! _When I get my hands on her. . . ._

"Erik, please calm down before one of us gets hurt – and I have a sneaking suspicion that it will not be you!" He was out of the chair and quickly moving as far from me as the space of the room would allow. He was not stupid – I would give him that.

I was furious! The complete and utter gall of that woman sticking her nose where it should not be was beyond infuriating! Who did she believe she was meddling in _my_ affairs!

She was nothing and no one!

In a whirl, I snatched up the empty glass off the nightstand, and prepared to hurl it at the complying wall, when that damn Persian reminded me, "Please, Erik! Think of all that she has done for you!"

I lowered the glass, thinking I could almost sense the wall's great disappointment as I denied it its victim. I was going mad with conflicting emotions. I wanted to snap her neck for her impertinence, but I could also not deny all that she had done to assist me in my escape from Paris. Even now – all the things that no one had ever asked of her – she had done willingly.

True, when she had offered her help, she had expected a small favor in return; I was to tutor her daughter Meg, developing her voice to its full potential. While her voice was pleasant, at best, given the right song – which I of course could write – she would achieve fame quite easily. I needed someone whom I could rely on, and she needed someone to pave the path of success for her daughter.

It was more than a fair trade.

The worst day of my life was the morning that I walked away from the opera house, knowing I had left my heart within its depths, never to return. I had known then that there was only one person I could turn to for aid.

Madeline Giry.

Her widowed sister had an apartment two blocks from the opera. That was where I decided I would go first. Using the alleys, I was made my way there relatively unseen; I kept the masked right side of my face close to the wall and as hidden as possible.

I went. She helped. No questions asked. It was not until later, once out of Paris, that I would ask her to remain, and she would agree on the condition that I take Meg under my wing. But when I had first gone to her, she aided me, even though I been a wanted man; everyone in the city of Paris was on the lookout for the hideous monster who had brought on the destruction of their precious opera house. If Giry was caught harboring me, she would have been imprisoned as well. So how could I possible get infuriated with her for caring. . . .

Very easily!

Part of me wanted to remain calm, and yet I could not – I would not!

I strode over to Nadir and grabbed him by his collar. "I want Giry in here, and I want her now! Do you understand? Bring her to me. She has some explaining to do!"

"Erik – I do not know if that is such a good–"

I shook him. "I said, now – NOW!" I had lost all control, that person who only moments ago had striven for serenity, no longer existed.

"I have news of Christine!"

The shock of hearing her name was as forceful as a strike of lightening and just as sobering. I released him instantly.

"What did you just say?" Perhaps the insanity of my rage had me imagining things, as well.

"My God, Madeline was not exaggerating." He paled further at this new realization. "Look at yourself, Erik! Look at all that you have accomplished in these ten years with your life! Your gifts are finally being recognized and appreciated by the masses and yet here you stand, still fixated on the one thing in this world which you cannot possess! You are a spoiled child who wants what he cannot have, simply because he cannot have it!" He was hurt and angry, color swiftly began to return to his face.

"How dare you? How dare you tell me that I am akin to a spoiled child! She is all I have ever wanted! If the whole world fell away it would matter not to me, as long as I had her!" I exhaled in disgust at his ignorance. "How can you not see that what I feel for her is real? _How_? It has been ten years and still I am dying inside without her! The pain has not eased as you all claimed it would. I need her, Nadir. I fear that perhaps I made the wrong decision. . . ."

I could never have known that one day I would walk in public with those whose oddities far surpassed that of my own. In the diverse and strange crowd of Coney Island, a masked man was nearly lost in the masses. It was a world which suited me perfectly; a world where perhaps Christine and I could exist together, live as any couple. . . .

"Of course you made the right decision letting the girl go. How could you keep her against her will?" He said aghast, pulling me from my dreams.

"Yes, you are right. It is just that – it is different here, Nadir. Here, I am revered as a God! Maybe . . . if I could get her here . . . and she could see me now – see all of this – then perhaps . . . perhaps, there is a chance she will feel differently." That was all I could say, for no one knew about that beautiful night she and I had spent entwined in the dark. As far as everyone involved was concerned, she had walked away when I released her and had never looked back.

"Erik, I am sorry, but I do not think–"

"I am lost without her." I admitted in defeat, cutting him off. "Do you not still miss the presence of your wife, Daroga? Why should my pain be any different? Am I any less a man?"

He shook his head sadly. "No, my friend – I would be the first to vouch for the humanity that fills you, despite what others may believe. No, you are no less worthy a man than any of us. Please forgive me, I was not thinking before I spoke." He walked to me, where I sat hunched upon the foot of my bed, acutely aching for her, and placed a kind hand on my shoulder. No one had done such a thing since Christine; no one ever willingly touched me.

While I was near tears at the gesture, unaccustomed to the kindness of it, instinctively, I stiffened. Sensing my unease, he removed his hand.  
"Thank you, Nadir. You have been a kind friend and proved quite invaluable to me all these years."

"It has been my pleasure. Where else would I be granted the opportunity to attend the company of a genius – a mad one – but a genius still." He smiled a few moments, but then the light left his eyes.

"I suppose that you are going to tell me I am a fool who dreams of the unattainable, and that I must let it go if ever I am to find peace?" But she was not unattainable, it was I who had let her go. . . .

He nodded slowly, dropping his gaze to his feet that were casually sweeping away fragments of the chair I had pulverized in my rage. "Yes, my friend – something like that."

"Do you not understand that I shall never attain peace without her? It took me my whole life to find a place where I belonged, where I could exist like everyone else. No longer do I have to hide in the shadows, there is a place for me here." I halted my defense, for it would not work on him, so I would not waste my breath.

"There are others, you know – women, I mean."

"No, there aren't – not for me. It's always been her."

He sighed in defeat and sat down on the bed beside me. "I know how you feel. I will never love another as I did my wife, but since her death, I have found comfort in the arms of others. They are not her, they never will be, but it is nice to share such intimacy with another from time to time. I simply wish that you would not deny yourself this. There are plenty who would not shy from you here, as you said you are revered as a God. You will not love them as you do her, but I can assure you, love can be found elsewhere. You have not tried, perhaps–"

"There is no one else!" I was angry, and he was jesting! How he could suggest that I lie with anyone but Christine astounded me; the very thought of it repulsed me.

"Because you do not open your eyes and see what is right before you!" He jumped to his feet and stood before me. "You are so amazingly bright, yet so stubbornly stupid! Finally you see that you are not the monster so many before have perceived you to be, and instead of taking hold of that, here you sit pining for the past!"

"No, Nadir. Not the past." I clarified sadly. "Never the past. I would give my life to alter the events of the past, but I cannot. I simply want the chance to have what could have been mine ten years ago, had I not been so foolish."

He sighed, blanketing the atmosphere with his frustrations.

"Please, my friend." I needed him to understand without knowing exactly why he must. "One last time – let me see her, hear her . . . once more if nothing else. If she does not want me then, I will let her go for good. Do not deny me this one request."

I watched the battle that was taking place on his face; his thick black brows furrowed as his teeth bit down upon his lower lip in deliberation.

"I will help you Erik, but, when things turn wrong, remember that I warned you of such. And while you can drive me nearly insane on occasion, you are still my friend, and I have great fears what this will do to you."

I could not fault him for such legitimate concerns, but I still needed him to know. "I am not the man that I was ten years ago, Nadir. If she refuses me now, it is final."

"Oh, Erik" he sighed, shaking his head. "I fear you are dreaming and such dreams will be the destruction of you. You shall never let her go and it will kill you." He was not angry, but sad.

I remained silent. I could not look at him and lie. He was right. I would never let her go, never love anyone else – my heart was incapable of it. It was best just to ignore the statement altogether and move on.

"Thank you for trying to understand, Daroga. I highly value your friendship. I do not know how you put up with me sometimes."

"No, nor do I." He laughed, I smiled. I really did not know why the man remained my friend, but I was grateful.

"Would you still like me to fetch Madeline?"

I was infuriated by the woman's impertinence, but no longer did I want to snap her neck. I would not confront her at the moment.

I sighed, tired from ten years of unrest and age. I was not getting any younger and outbursts, like the one before, took their toll on me.

"No, leave Giry – the meddling fool – right where she is. I have more pressing matters to attend to than her. However, you are not to tell her that I know it was she, who summoned you here, do you understand me, Nadir?"

"I have come to know that with you, Erik – discretion is the better part of valor." A mischievous smile graced his face.

"Good, because I need you to do something for me."

He smiled, again that good humored grin playing upon his lips. "What can I do to help, my friend?"

"Do you truly have news of her, Daroga?" It had been so long since I had learned anything of her. I had sworn six years ago that I would not torture myself by shadowing her life, and I held true to that.

Christine had not seen me for ten years, though for me, it had been six.

In the beginning, I had deluded myself into believing that to stay away from her, was what was right, what was best. That only persisted until the gnawing ache was too great. Her absence ate at me like a cancer, an addiction. Yes, addiction was indeed, the correct term, for after four years, I could stand the craving no longer. I returned to France, back to torment myself with what I could not have.

I told myself that there was no harm in seeing her; she would not know of my presence – I simply needed to see her for the pain to ease – that was all.

I lingered no longer than five minutes, concealed in the hedge which spanned the front of the de Chagny residence, when as if willed there by my need, out strode Christine. The sight of her, her unmatched beauty, stole my breath. She stood on the front steps fitting her black leather gloves into place; it was December and her coffee colored curls billowed out behind her in the blustery wind. She was as exquisite as ever.

"Gustave, if you are not out here in three seconds, I shall leave for church without you!" Christine called over her shoulder in the direction of the house.

"One . . . Two . . ." Before she could reach three, bounding out the front door, came a young boy. He was light, fair skinned, and beautiful; like Christine – like Raoul; a golden ray of light.

My little angel was a mother. . . .

"Gustave, I have told you time and time again that we must always be punctual." She took hold of his small hand and led them down the front steps.

"Yes, Mama. I'm sorry."

"You are forgiven, my love but we must hurry if we want to hear the–" Her attention was drawn to their apparent tardiness, she slipped on a patch of ice layering the frozen ground. Before she careened to the solid earth, she released the child's hand sparing him the fall.

It took all the self control within me not to run to her, but before I ever could have made it to her, the boy – Gustave she had called him – had fled to her side, dropping down upon his knees beside her.

"Mama! Are you alright?" He looked as concerned as I felt.

Sweet silvery peals of laughter greeted my ears. I inhaled the crisp air gratefully, then sighed in relief. She was not hurt.

When at last she had breath to answer, she replied, "Yes, darling, I am fine. Your, mama is very accident prone and I must laugh at myself now and again. I am a nothing more than a klutz!"

This amused the boy and he began to laugh, Christine joining him. They laughed together, mother and son – the sound so melodious it tore at my soul.

He attempted to help her to her feet, even though the effort was fruitless. He loved her; it was written on every feature of his perfect little face. While it killed me to think of Christine being so eternally bound to de Chagny, I could not begrudge her such happiness. She was more radiant looking upon her son than I had ever seen her. Raoul had given her what I knew that night, I never could – a healthy, _normal_ child. There were several different precautions which could be taken to assure there would never be any child, I knew that, but it did not matter – she deserved far more than the life I could have offered her, and she appeared to have it.

Rising to her feet, wiping off the snow from her voluminous burgundy skirt, she again took hold of his hand and began to walk, her stride noticeably slower than before. A small grin played upon my lips.

"Mama?" The angelic child suddenly paused, causing Christine to come to a screeching halt.

"My love, we really must be going or we shall be late."

"I'm sorry I misbehaved and didn't listen when you called. If you weren't rushing because of me, you wouldn't have fallen." He hung his little head with the weight of his guilt.

She bent down on one knee, so that she was eye to eye with the boy. "Angel, it is not your fault that I slipped. Your mama was not watching where she was walking, and therefore it my own fault, not yours." Lightly, lovingly, she brushed back a golden lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

"I'm still sorry that I didn't listen to you, Mama."

"Apology accepted." She kissed his pink cheeks. "Now, we must hurry or we shall miss all those beautiful voices when the choir begins to sing, and I know how much you love listening to them."

With the boy still in hand she walked through the front gates, no more than two feet away from where I crouched concealed in the hedges that bordered the front of the estate. She turned down the street and walk further and further away from me.

I told myself that I should not follow, but like an addict – I could not resist.

I pursued them to the church, but did not go in; it was an establishment which I did not like being within. I crossed the street and walked into the Le Bois de Boulogne, where I sat upon a stone bench and waited. And while I waited, I heard the choir begin to sing, and I immediately understood why Christine and the child hadn't wanted to miss their voices which soared with purity and vibrancy. Their music was breathtaking.

As their voices ceased, and I watched as people began to leave the church, I wanted to flee, to leave before I could see her again, but my heart and body would not respond.

Just one more look, I thought. One more. . . .

The crowd flowing from the church was beginning to thin, and exiting last was the object of my addition, hand in hand with the child. I rose from the bench and slowly followed her from the cover of the hedges lining the park. I couldn't help myself; I was pulled to her like a magnet.

At the bottom of the steps to the church, Christine paused, her head turning in the direction to where I stood. She was looking for something – or someone. Was it possible that she could sense me, was her bond with me as strong as mine was with her?

"Wait a moment, darling." She said, still searching in my direction.

As she peered closer at the spot in which I was concealed, de Chagny bounded down the street calling, "Christine! Gustave! It is Papa!" The idyllic idiot had a grin from ear to ear.

She turned in surprise and said, "Raoul, darling!"

"Papa!" The child echoed in equal shock.

"My beautiful family!" He sang, kissing Christine's cheek, picking her up, whirling her around and placing her down, where he again took her into his arms. "You look lovely, sweetheart." He lightly kissed her lips, and then bent down to fondly ruffle the golden hair of his son.

I hated him. Watching as he possessed all that I secretly yearned for was an agony that stole my breath. I could only look on, trapped there to endure more of their happy torture.

"Raoul, you're certainly in good cheer." Christine smiled. "But I thought that you would be busy for the day?" His appearance did not seem as welcomed as one would have thought.

"I did believe that I was going to be tied up for the majority of the day, but luck has been with me! Today, my dear wife, I have just acquired more money than the de Chagny lineage has ever seen!" He glowed with elation.

"But, Raoul – how did you–"

"It does not matter." He said, cutting her off. Then smiled again as he went on. "Do you know what this means – for all of us? All of our debts shall be paid and we will not put a dent into the sum we now possess!"

Again she smiled, but it was forced. I sensed that _our_ debts, in reality, were _his_ debts.

Either ignoring or not realizing her false happiness, he jauntily continued on. "What do my beautiful wife and son have planned for the afternoon?"

"We're going for a walk through the park. Gustave loves the sights, and then I thought I would take a late lunch. Would you like to join us, darling?" I was intrigued; the furrowing of her brow seemed an indication she did not want his company in spite of her offer.

"Yes, Papa! Please say you'll come along!" sang the little ray of light beside his raven mother.

"You know, I believe I shall!" Raoul smiled.

"Really, darling, you will come?" I was only fooling myself before when I believed she had not wanted him along; her face was lit with genuine pleasure.

"Oh, Papa! Mama and I can show you the swans! They're wonderful! The little ones are so ugly, but then they grow old and become beautiful – I think they're the most magnificent creatures!"

"You may show me anything you like, my boy." This seemed, to not only please the child, but Christine as well.

I watched as de Chagny swooped down to pick the boy up, swirl him around, as he had his mother, which elicited peals of laughter. He kissed the boy's rosy cheeks, and held him in his arms.

Why I wanted to torture myself further, I could not say, but I felt the need to be closer to her; to see the emotions displayed in their eyes and to view in precision what could never be mine. I crossed the square unseen and lurked mere feet away in the alley behind them. Once there, I noticed that de Chagny was not appearing as dashing as he had four years prior. There were new faint lines and creases in his features, where before there had been none. This pleased me. For his undeserving beauty was beginning to fade. Age takes mercy on none of us.

"Come my loves, and let us enjoy this glorious afternoon that God has been kind enough to bless us with!" He kissed the boy's cheek, still held in his arms, wrapped his free arm around Christine and kissed her, as well.

My heart ached as I watched her glow with delight from his kiss. I watched from the shadows as they strode across the square and through the gates of the Le Bois de Boulogne. I could stand the sting of their happiness, of their blissful unity, no more. As the joyful family began to disappear from sight, heading further into the park, I turned and walked in the opposite direction; intent on returning to America without ever looking back again. But of course I had to – just once more.

I turned to spy the little family walking embraced together through the tree lined path, the snow covered pines glinted like towering opals in the brilliant light of noon. They were all picture perfect, but Christine was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I heard her melodious laugh ring high, as she watched father and son playfully chase one another about the park. She was absolutely glorious set against the sparkling white backdrop of the park – onyx among pearl.

I loved her so much; the feeling consumed me, and nearly brought me to my knees.

I would never return to Paris, I knew that. I would never again see her in the Le Bois de Boulogne, or anywhere. They were almost out of sight around a bend in the path and before I could blink she was gone; taking my heart with her.

I turned, walked away and booked passage on the next liner that had left Cherbourg. I returned to America intent on achieving something no one dared imagined would exist. Phantasma – a world of wonder unlike anything seen before and I would make it a reality.

Nadir sighed with irritated disapproval, pulling me from my reverie and at last confessed. "Yes, I know a little of the Comtess de Chagny."

I winced at the hideous label. Christine was glorious, beautiful and far above the earthy title of a mere Comtess.

"And . . .?" Anything, I would take anything at all – again that hopeless addict.

"It is widely known in Paris – as well as many other places – that the de Chagny's are vastly in debt. It is said that they are virtually penniless, due to the Comte's affinity for gambling. All that remains is the family estate, and by the word of things it will not be long until that has too, been wagered and lost in a hand of cards." He paused, contemplating whether or not to go on.

"What else, Nadir – what aren't you saying?"

"The Comte has been drinking." He said no more, as though no further explanation was necessary.

"So?" He was grating on my nerves again.

"So, my friend, it appears that he is not only a gambler but a drunken one at that. It is not wise to mix the drink with betting – he has lost dearly for doing so. There was an incident with the Comtess because of it."

My heart ceased beating as I waited for him to continue.

"It happened close to a year ago." He spoke at last. "The Comte failed to make good on a wager of sorts, and those to whom he owed, were not ones you would want to be indebted to."

"What happened to her, Nadir?" I tried to remain calm, but a cool layer of sweat began to line my brow.

"They abducted her, and. . . ."

I felt physically ill. "And what – WHAT!"

"Before de Chagny was able to arrive at the location where Christine was being held, they – they cut her."

The room began to haze, my vision failing. I blinked rapidly, trying desperately to focus and cease the deafening ringing in my ears.

"How bad, Nadir?" I swallowed, attempting to steady myself for his reply.

"They cut her throat."

The room was beginning to morph into a tunnel, the ringing intensifying.

"Erik?" He was upon me, but I could not see or focus. I had to know.

"Please, Daroga – tell me what happened."

"Every minute de Chagny was late with the money, he was warned that Christine would be cut. The sum was so large, that acquiring it took some time. He was three minutes delayed."

I felt the bile rise high in my throat. I swallowed it back appalled. "They wounded her three times . . . where?" I knew there was nothing that I could do to change it, but for some odd reason I had to know just where she had been damaged. I could not bear to think of my perfect girl scarred in anyway. My atrocities were enough for the both of us. She was the glorious swan, and I the ugly duckling who had never morphed. My swan could not be flawed.

He shifted uncomfortably. "They cut her throat in two places – a vertical line on each side, below either ear. And then they cut her–" his face flushed and he couldn't continue.

"Nadir, if I must keep prying information from you, I swear. . . ." I let the threat hang heavy in the air.

"Her breast," he relented. "They cut the flesh of her breast." The look displayed on his face told me that their act revolted him as much as it did me. Quickly, rushing through the awkwardness that permeated the room, he went on. "While the Comte tried to keep the scandal hush-hush, the story was leaked. That, my friend is sadly all that I know."

"What do you mean all that you know? What of the fiends who did this to her? Please tell me that de Chagny handled them afterwards. . . ." If it had been me, and they had done such a thing, rest assured that I would have _handled_ them.

He shook his head sadly. "I am afraid that nothing could be done, for how could de Chagny alert the authorities, when doing such a thing would illuminate his affinity for illegal gambling?"

"Who was it – who did this to her?"

I would find them, and when I did. . . .

"It was not one; the Comte was indebted to many – a group of sorts." He suddenly shook his head before I could raise the question. "No, I will not tell you who they are, even if you tried to torture it from me because I know you, Erik. I know you will go seeking vengeance and these years of redemption shall be lost. They will get their just rewards in the end, fear not."

"So is that it then?" I rose abruptly, my voice tainted with bitterness. "Is that what you have come all this long way to bother me with, Nadir – with the fears of an idiotic meddling woman and an event which I can do nothing to alter!"

"Erik, I am here because I am worried about my friend. I want to see you find redemption for the sins of the past, not repeat its mistakes."

Why that infernal Persian always had to be right, I did not know; he made my head throb and I knew that I could take no more. Too much had happened in too little time. I needed a few moments to process it all – alone.

"Please Nadir, I can speak of this no further – leave me now." I wiped the sweat from my brow as I hurriedly herded him towards the door. "Have you a place to stay in town, Daroga – if not, you are very welcome to stay in the room below, this after all a hotel – in case you failed to take notice." I was sweating profusely now and he sensed my distress, but said nothing. The room was still spinning, still swirling. I had to get him out before I collapsed before him.

"Thank you, my friend – I shall humbly accept your offer." He bowed in thanks. "I am so very sorry that my words have troubled you. I came here to help, not make matters worse."

"Do not be simple, Daroga. Of course your words upset, but they had to be told, and I do thank you for such candor. You and Giry are the only ones who are unafraid to tell me the truth."

He laughed. "Well, I would not say unafraid, exactly, but I do not think I would be any worthwhile friend if I held my tongue due to fear." He smiled, his eyes shining orbs of wisdom I could not look upon at the moment.

I opened the door, praying for his haste exit. "Goodnight – _good morning_ Daroga, and if you have any need, there is a black knob placed next to the light in the bedroom below, turn it in any direction and my man shall tend to you."

"Thank you again, my friend." He smiled once more, turned and left. As he did, I closed the door, falling flat against its frame, and slid down to the floor in despair.

_My beautiful girl . . . miserable and marred!_

I couldn't bear to think of what she had had to undergo; the images which filled my mind only served to sicken me. The dream which had unsettled me earlier was now forgotten.

I had to get her away from him – she was far above him and his actions had now proven such. I didn't know how he could have turned so vile, for he was not one I had ever pegged as the type. While I did hate him, I could never have denied that he did love her, and could not fathom how he had sunk so low. I hadn't known him to be a gambler – I did my fair share of background research on Raoul Francois de Chagny when he had come back into Christine's life ten years ago. I had gathered quite a bit of information on him, but none of it had ever hinted at an affinity for gambling – or drinking. I wondered what had changed him so greatly. He obviously had a problem, one which was gravely affecting Christine, and that I could not allow. Now I was kicking myself for staying away from her these last six years, for while I thought I was doing her good, I was not. In fact, perhaps she would never have been hurt if I had kept a closer eye on her. The forbidden urge, that had been claiming me more and more as time wore on, was now seeming founded, and possibly . . . for the best?

I stood, still a bit light headed, but I walked with purpose as I strode to the desk opposite my bed.

I knew how I would bring her to me, for with the swiftly approaching opening of Phantasma, opening this very day, it would not be feasible for me to go to her; she would have to come to me. And I knew precisely how. . . .

I would offer them money, heaps and heaps of money. A sum so outrageous that there would be no chance of their refusing the request that the famed Christine Daae perform – one night – one aria – it would be too enticing. She would tell her husband of the offer and he would pounce on it.

It was perfect.

Once I had her, I would tell her what a fool I was for ever letting her go and I would beg for her forgiveness. I placed a sheet of cream colored paper before me on the desk, picked up a pen and began to write. Hopefully this letter would be the beginning of the end of my pain – for I would soon see her. I knew Raoul, so in debt, would never refuse once it was offered. As I stood, hunched over and wrote, I smiled. Who would have ever dreamed that in the end, I would be better for her than him?

Dreams were strange creatures. They could heal or they could cripple. For there are some dreams which shall never come to pass, and the pain of that reality is a brutal thing.

But Christine could be mine – could have been mine before if I had not been so stupid – it was no dream after all . . . it would soon be a reality.

***Author's note: Sorry it took me longer than usual to get this chapter to you guys, but a lot's been going on, and it took me a while to write. I'm already a few pages into the next chapter, so I promise I will update soon. I really hope you all are enjoying where I'm taking this so far (let me know what you think in a review) and like my style of writing. I thank you so much for reading, reviewing and adding the story to your favorites :) I know I say it all the time, but it's true – the only reason this story has gotten this far is because of all of you and your encouraging comments. Again, I thank you.**

**To GraySkies29: What the hell would I do without you? LOL! You are the best beta anyone could ever ask for. I'm really happy we met and I thank you so much for all of your help :) **

**Till next time!**

**-Shannon***


	7. Christine: Change

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Christine:**____"Change"_

Change is good. It is a part of life in a world of ever altering occurrences; yet I dread it. Even as a child, I had not embraced change.

After my mother's death, my father had moved us from Sweden to Paris. Then, I had hated him, later I would come to understand. He could not remain in a country that only served to remind him of a love he had lost.

Now, many years later, my life was changing yet again, and I was as petrified as ever before. The last ten years – the last year in particular – had been turbulent and not at all what I had wished them to be. I should have welcomed the change wholeheartedly, but I could not.

Two months ago, a letter had arrived from New York, addressed to me. It was an offer that I perform one aria – one night only, for an amount so large I had gasped when I read the figure. It was outrageous. When Raoul had seen the price his mood instantly brightened. We were again sinking in a pool of debt brought on by his obsession with gambling and the money was direly needed – a God send, really. There was no way we could refuse.

Now, four months later we were aboard the Persephone, on our way to America, and I was ill with unease. We had no idea what awaited us when we disembarked, and still no more knowledge of who this Mr. Whye was,than the day we received the letter.

I had not yet been given the aria I was to sing, but the letter had stated that I was to receive instruction upon my arrival at the park.

_Phantasma._

The name unsettled me. It was ridiculous but I could not shake the chill which filled me. Yet, I had to agree with Raoul; no matter how strange the offer, the money was too vitally needed to pass up. It was five days from the day of my performance – Labor Day – and we were nearly upon New York.

For the last forty minutes I had sat on deck looking out into the calming sapphire waters of the Atlantic as passengers meandered by. While our suite had its own private promenade deck, I preferred to watch the life that unfolded around me. Mothers with their children, the tenderness of it, spouses with their loves, the affection exchanged between them. There were young couples just starting out on love's journey, and ones whose journey was coming to its end. The longer their unity, the more I observed tiny delicate intimacies learned over years of sharing lives. I couldn't help but be envious of them.

"Mother!"

It was Gustave, followed by Captain Franks.

"Darling!" I rose to greet them. "Did you enjoy your tour of the ship with Captain Franks?"

The moment Gustave had laid eyes on the massive ocean liner, he was enthralled with it. He asked question upon question, all of which neither Raoul nor myself could answer. His mind was an endless sponge that demanded saturation. We had been seated at the Captain's table for meals, and being the amiable gentleman that he was, it was not hard for me to inquire if he would mind allowing Gustave to look over the ship.

Gustave was absolutely glowing, the amber burning bright within his happy eyes."It was amazing Mother! You've just got to see how big the engine room is!"

"I did have quite a time dragging him away from my chief engineer," laughed the silver haired captain.

"I'm so sorry. I do hope he was not too much trouble."

"Oh, no Comtess – not at all, it was my pleasure." He smiled with sincere warmth.

"I thank you very much for taking the time to give him a tour yourself. I know how much it means to him."

"No thanks is necessary, Comtess. I only apologize that I couldn't have shown him around the old girl sooner."

"Well, I still thank you Captain Franks. I shall not forget your kindness."

He smiled graciously. "Well, I should be going. We'll be docking shortly. Comtess, it has been my great pleasure getting to know you and your family on this journey of yours. I hope to see you aboard the Persephone again someday soon."

"As do we." We had dined at the captain's table for the duration of our voyage. We had all come to grow quite fond of the affable captain.

He smiled, bowed, said a farewell to Gustave and strode down the tawny deck.

For a solid hour, we walked the length of the deck and then back again**, **as Gustave told me every detail of his tour. I listened willingly.

". . . then Captain Franks said we had to be going because he needed to get back to the bridge in preparation of our arrival. But he promised that the next time we were aboard**, **I could return to the engine room and question Mr. Brigs again and find out how it all works." He stopped and turned to me. "Thank you for asking Captain Franks to take me around, Mother." He smiled, and I noticed how glorious he looked in the late afternoon sun.

_So beautiful. . . ._

"I am glad that you enjoyed yourself, my love."

"Oh, Mother I did! I truly did!" He hugged me, now standing almost as tall as I. I relished the feel of his arms around me.

"Then that is all that matters." I smiled, kissed his forehead and embraced him once more.

"Where's Father?" He pulled away looking at me in question.

"He's with Mr. Feinstein – they are discussing a possible business arrangement. . . ." I faltered; I detested lying to him.

"It's alright, Mother – you can just say that they're drinking together again." The sorrow which consumed him, splintered my heart.

"Darling, why don't you head back to our suite and make sure that Bridgett has everything packed?" I suggested. Bridgett was my maid, nanny, and above all she was my friend. "I'll go and fetch your father."

Still filled with woe, he nodded. "Yes, Mother." He turned to leave, but halted. "I had hoped this change would be good for Father, and while I still have hope that it shall be, it has not yet seemed to make a difference."

"He will change, Gustave – away from all the insidious influences of those he should not associate with – he is bound to." We all longed for him to revert back to his former sweet self – no one more than I. I did believe that a large amount of his behavior was due to those he was socializing with, and not being surrounded by them, I hoped, would help to convert him.

"I want to believe as well, Mother – I really do." And he did; he wanted his father back just as much I wanted my husband.

He smiled once, turned and moved through the people populating the deck, enjoying the last of their voyage. As I watched him go my heart was heavy. As mature and wise as he was, he should not have to carry the burden of such worries upon his slight shoulders.

As I made my way to the first class smoking room – where I was quite certain I would find both Raoul and Feinstein – I breathed in the crisp salt filled air and prayed to God that once in New York, things would be different.

Perhaps I was finally welcoming change, after all.

I found him, seated at a red velvet settee across from Feinstein, brandy and cigar in hand. By the looks of it, they were half way through a bottle and were laughing raucously from its affects. I felt completely stifled in the smoke filled room and wanted to leave as soon as I was able.

Raoul appeared right at home.

"Ah, it looks as though the old ball and chain has come to end our fun, eh Comte?" said the noxious Feinstein as he eyed me approaching.

"Christine! Lewis and I were just discussing a very intriguing business proposition." Raoul stood to greet me, looking more dashing in his clean white suite than he deserved.

I had absolutely no desire to indulge him in his delusions of grandeur. There was no proposition, and if there was – he would never follow through.

"Darling, we really must be going. We shall be arriving within the hour and Gustave is looking for you. I believe he wants to tell you about his tour."

While I had no doubt that he had helped Feinstein in consuming the brandy, he had not yet drank enough for the other Raoul – the nasty one – to surface.

He smiled, in that moment looking so much like the boy I had fallen in love with. "And I should like to hear of it." He rose and extended his hand to Feinstein. "Lewis, I shall be in contact with you, rest assured."

I knew very well that he would not.

Shaking Raoul's hand, the portly, balding Englishman bid him a farewell. "Goodbye, Comte and I look forward to hearing from you." The burly man turned to me, bowed, took my hand in his and kissed it. "Until we meet again, Comtess."

I was thoroughly repulsed by his presence, and for once was glad that I could be certain of Raoul's inability to follow through. I never wanted to lay eyes on the man again. Still, I nodded and smiled through my dislike. Feinstein afforded us one last bow and thankfully, we strode off.

"Are you excited to be singing again, Christine?" His mood was buoyant, but not obnoxiously so. He was the boy I had lost. Every now and again, he would surface and when he did, I held fast to him.

"I am, darling**,** but I am also quite anxious. It has been so long since I have sung for anyone other than Gustave, and I am quite out of practice."

"You worry uselessly." He turned to me, holding my face between his warm hands. "You will sound as lovely as you always have. Of that, I have no doubt." As if his encouraging compliment was not enough, he kissed me – not passionately, but lightly, lovingly.

Why could he not always be like this?

Nothing further was said as we walked to our suite. We entered to find Bridgett packing the last of our luggage, as Gustave helped.

"Is that all of it, Bridgett?"

"Yes, Madame." I detested the tile of Comtess and forbade the servants from calling me such. I preferred Christine, but Bridgett refused to address me as such. So, _Madame_ it was.

"Good. We shall be arriving shortly." And I was right.

No sooner had Gustave gotten into animatedly describing the colossal engines, than we were entering New York Harbor. We left the suite and the care of our luggage in Bridgett's capable hands, and headed out to the deck where we saw our first glimpse of Manhattan.

It was beautiful. There was no denying that the burgeoning metropolis was a wondrous sight. The dark blue waters, the shimmering buildings, the stunning statue of Liberty – a gift from our homeland – all made the scene before us stunning. I eyed Liberty closer. She was glorious and seemed right at place among the glittering city; a great guardian welcoming those entering from foreign soils.

"Oh, Mother! Father! Look! It's all so magnificent!" Gustave cried in fascination.

"It is lovely, darling."

"Indeed**,** it is."Raoul agreed.

"How far is Coney Island, Father – do you think we can see it from here?" He inclined his head in all directions, hoping to catch a glimpse of the isle. The instant he learned where we were traveling, he was mesmerized by the said, '_World of Wonders_'.

"I do not think so, son." Answered Raoul, smiling. "It is an isle off of the one you see now."

He was only disappointed for a moment before the sights around him recaptured his enthusiasm. "What we're seeing now is Manhattan Island, isn't it Father?"

"Yes, it is. I must say, it is quite something to look at, though it still pales in comparison to our glorious Paris.

"I'm not sure Father." Gustave countered. "Some of the buildings here are quite exquisite. Though the statue we passed was lovely as well." It was immediately clear that Gustave was enthralled by a city of such budding progression.

"Yes, but do not forget that Liberty was crafted by French hands, my son and it is the sole reason she is as magnificent as she is." Raoul's dislike of America, when never having set foot onto her soil, was tiresome.

Not fifteen minutes later**,** we were walking down the planks of the Persephone and stepping onto the docks of New York Harbor.

Our arrival had not gone unnoticed.

Throngs of photographers, reporters and spectators swarmed us. "Ms. Daaé!" They cried. The sea of humanity burst forth, shouting all at once.

"Christine!"

"Over here! This way!"

One bellow blended into the next, as we were blinded by the harsh light of the camera flashes. I kept Gustave back, holding him protectively behind me.

"Her name is Comtess de Chagny now." Raoul corrected, then warned. "No pictures of the boy!"

Ignoring him, they continued on with their questions, remarks and flashes.

"Hey Christine, why Coney Island and not the Met?" One rudely inquired.

Raoul tried in vain to defend our ridiculous acceptance. "The Comtess has been engaged by a well known–"

Cutting him off,someone yelled, "Well known! Please, no one's ever seen the guy!"

"It's the money, right?" The callousness of their questions amazed me.

"Is it true you lost all your money at a roulette table in Monte Carlo?" Would their intrusive inquiries never end?

They laughed.

"How dare you!" Raoul howled at the crowd. He turned to me in frustration. "Didn't this Mr. Whye send someone to receive us?"

Before I could say a word, Gustave cried, "Mother look! Right over there, across that square! How very strange – what is it?"

"I do not know, darling. . . ."

Making its way towards us was a carriage**, **the likes of which I had never seen.

It was ornately decorated, appearing like a golden glistening opal ring in the afternoon sun. Two magnificent horses trotted our way. One of white – it reminded me so much of Caesar, the stage horse I had favored at the opera, that my heart suddenly ached for him. And the other, just as glorious as the first, was raven black. But these were no ordinary horses.

They were . . . _mechanical_.

Remarkable! They so closely resembled real animals,that when the spectacle came to a halt before us, the crowd hushed. I brushed my hand down the white mare's mane and was again, astonished. She was made of wood; genuine horse hair had been sewn in, giving them the illusion of appearing quite real. I wanted to glimpse a bit more of the driver, seated up front of the coach, but his face was obscured – by a mask. It was nothing like _his_, but the sight however, did not fail to still my heart.

The initial shock subsiding, the masses began their speculations.

"Whatever on earth could that be? It's amazing!"

We all waited,with baited breath as the carriage door was thrust open with a great flourish. Only . . . there was no one inside; the compartment was totally empty. There was no there.

Then there was.

Emerging from the seats, walls and upholstery were people – three of them. They had camouflaged themselves perfectly into the interior in a way that was mindboggling. They removed themselves from the carriage in strange, disjointed, yet somehow remarkably fluid motions. Making their way towards us, using the same odd movements – like an unknown dance – in unison, the three bowed.

The more they drew near, the more I sensed Raoul's discomfort as he stood beside me. The three in front of us were freaks – as some would surely call them – and since the events of the opera, Raoul had a dislike of those who were _different_. You could not blame him, his only encounter with one who was unusual had not gone well – that person had tried to kill him.

There were two males and female. One man was massive, the other emaciated. The girl was dressed all in black and had distinct a bird-like appearance about her. The large one spoke first.

"Are you ready to begin? Are you ready to get on;you're about to start out on the journey of your lives." As huge as he was, I sensed great gentleness to the giant.

Without warning, the mammoth reached forward and magically pulled a rainbow colored handkerchief from behind Gustave's ear. Instead of being startled by this, Gustave was absolutely spellbound.

Raoul however, was not awestruck. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"It's a publicity stunt for that freak show on Coney," said a male reporter.

Another one squealed. "It's a front page feature is what it is!" Turning to her photographer, the blonde asked, "Are you getting this?" The round man nodded as he snapped a photo of the peculiar trio.

The tall, gangly one moved closer. "If you're ready, then get in. Once you're in then we'll get gone, and who knows once it goes where you'll be when it arrives." Snapping forward, he removed Raoul's hat, vanishing it into thin air before our eyes.

"This is absolutely outrageous! How dare you!" Raoul's protests were drowned by the astonished buzzing of the crowd.

"It's completely ingenious! That Mr. Whye is really something!"

Flanking us, one on each side, the two strange men herded us towards the bizarre looking carriage where the dark woman awaited.

"It's a fun house where the mirrors all reflect what's real, and reality's as twisted as the mirror's reveal." Their talk was riddle like, and quite unnerving. While I did not want to go along with the bizarre trio, I saw no other choice. Cautiously, I stepped into the carriage.

Raoul followed, though he was not pleased. "This is completely unacceptable! I'll be taking this up with your employer! Do you hear me?" They smiled, bowed again, but said nothing further. Huffing loudly, he reluctantly got in beside me. He was livid, the cream of his skin flushed bright with pink. I knew we would be hearing about this for the rest of the day, at the very least.

Bridgett fearfully made her way in, followed by Gustave,who was rapt with wide-eyed wonder as he sat next to Raoul, and took in his surroundings. The three strange escorts got in and sat on the golden satin seat across from us, and the carriage was instantly in motion.

The interior of the coach was exquisite. From the glimmering satin fabric, gleaming polished wood and inlayed ivory details, it was opulence like I had never seen before. Gustave was in utter awe.

We rode to the hotel in a festering silence, the only one spared was Gustave, and that was simply because his mind was elsewhere – ever working. At last, reaching a towering building of silver, the female spoke as the giant opened the door. We had still not been introduce or given their names.

"This is the Hotel Phantasma." Her voice had an eerie ring about it. She said nothing else, and I assumed that meant we were to get out.

As we stepped from the carriage, the person who greeted us was as equally odd as those who had brought us there.

Appearing both male and female, wearing half of a black tuxedo and half of a white ball gown, _it_ spoke.

"Welcome! Welcome! I am Kerie,and it is the great pleasure of Mr. Whye to have you here at Phantasma!"

Once again, Raoul was less than happy. "My God, what is this?"

Smiling, Kerie said, "This is the Hotel Phantasma, of course! Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you to your suite."

"Where is this Mr. Whye? I have some things I should like to discuss with him."

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. de Chagny, but Mr. Whye doesn't see anyone. You can however, speak with his assistant tomorrow."

Someone, a teenage boy, dressed all in white made off with our luggage.

"Unbelievable!" Raoul bellowed as we walked through the glass front doors. "What kind of a business man could this Mr. Whye be if he does not receive anyone?"

"A very clever one, sir." Kerie smiled, but said nothing further.

While my eyes tried to take in all there was to see within – and there was a lot – we were hustled through the wide open vestibule, past a stunningly unique ruby glass reception desk; behind which sat a girl who was no larger than a toddler. While it appeared that all the employees were . . . different, those who populated the lobby and lounge as we passed, were ordinary. They were like us.

"I thought we were being shown to our suite? Why in the devil would we go in there?" Raoul asked in astonishment.

_There_ was a utility closet; complete with brooms, buckets, mops and cleaning supplies.

Before Kerie could answer, Raoul cried, "This is insanity! Do you mean to tell me that we've come all this way to be cloistered in some – some – _pantry_!"

"Please, Mr. de Chagny – here, at Hotel Phantasma, nothing is as it seems. You must learn to trust that which you cannot see. Enter and see past what your eyes tell you is real."

"Lunacy! That's what this is!" Raoul raged, as he huffed his way into the closet.

"I think it's rather fun!" Gustave cried,jumping through the doorway after Raoul.

I said nothing, simply followed, but Bridgett was highly hesitant.

"Miss?" Kerie motioned for her to enter as well, but she stayed where she was.

"Come along, Bridgett – there's nothing to fear." I felt bad for her;she was clearly afraid.

"But Madame, it is nothing but a cleaning closet!"

"At least someone else here has half a brain." Raoul muttered beside me.

"Bridgett, please trust me. You forget that this is a hotel meant for patrons of the park and from what we have witnessed thus far – it is quite unlike anything we have ever seen. Trust me, all will be fine." God bless her, she did. She slowly made her way into the tiny claustrophobic space.

With the five of us, and cleaning supplies, crammed into the minuscule room – I did not see where there was for us to go.

Kerie closed the door, fully extinguishing what little amount of air there was. He smiled, reaching up for the string of the electric light illuminating the room.

"Don't be frightened. This will only take a moment."

Suddenly afraid, I clutched Gustave to my side.

Then all was dark.

We were in motion; I could feel the low humming vibration beneath my feet.

"What the–" Raoul began, his voice filled with unease.

"We're here!"

It was light again. Kerie stood facing us, the door to the '_closet_' open and what we saw beyond was no longer the lobby, but a vast hallway. A long line of red velour ran down a white marble floor, past doors of black stained oak and walls covered in white satin-esque wallpaper.

"This is your floor, please follow me."

The four of us stood as still as stone, completely in shock. We were all as astounded as to how a utility closet could have taken us from the ground level to wherever floor we were on. It was unsettling, and almost on cue, we ran from the room into the brightly lit hallway. All of us, but Gustave, who stood there fascinated, his eyes absolutely aflame with interest.

Bridgett on the other hand, looked like a frightened bird in the large corridor. "How shall we ever find our way out?"

"There's no need to fret." Kerie soothed. "If you should like to leave the way you came, simply call Collette – our receptionist – with the telephone in your suite and she will send someone up who can escort you. Or – you can use the private staircase located in your suite. That will take you anywhere in the hotel you need travel to."

This seemed to relax both Bridgett and Raoul; I couldn't deny that it comforted me, as well.

"Let's get on with it then. Gustave! Come along, NOW!" Raoul was at his breaking point – this had all been too much for him, I could tell. He appeared strong, but inwardly, he was little boy.

Gustave was so consumed with the room and the marvel of it, he did not hear Raoul. To avoid another outburst, I rushed to Gustave, taking him by the arm.

"Darling, we must go to our suite now, your father is waiting."

He was crestfallen to leave. "Yes, Mother." Obeying, he walked with me into the hall.

"Right this way, please." Kerie was ever patient, seeming to take notice of none of family squabbling.

Gustave did not release my hand as we followed Kerie down the brightly lit hall. Raoul huffed, puffed and muttered the whole way, as Bridgett rang out some invisible wet cloth held in her hands. Stopping at the last black door on the left – there were so many doors, so many rooms – Kerie pulled a red crystal skeleton key from a pocket.

"Wow!" The glittering key seemed to excite Gustave more than anything we had seen yet.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kerie, as well, appeared in awe of the key's beauty.

I thought it was uniquely beautiful, but did not understand their affinity for it. It was only a key. That was Gustave though; capable of finding beauty in the simplest of things.

"Please, for heaven's sake, can we enter already?"

"Of course, Mr. de Chagny."

Placing the sparkling key into the gold lock, Kerie lead us into our suite – and what a suite it was.

To say that it was large would be a vast understatement. It was gigantic, and as plush with grandeur and elegance as the rest of the things we had seen in relation to Phantasma.

"At least there's a fully stocked bar." Raoul made his way across the pristinely white carpet – so immaculate it looked brand new – past the ornate mahogany furniture, the exquisite black grand piano and the sights outside the large towering windows, taking notice of none of it as he made for the brandy, his faithful pain reliever.

"Mother, look!" Gustave had run first to the shiny piano, upon which he found a toy of some kind. "Is this for me?"

"Darling, I do not know, but please be careful with it – whatever it is."

"The stairwell?" Bridgett inquired anxiously.

"Oh, yes! Right this way." Kerie walked through a sitting room,coming to a stop in the next room, the library – yes, there was a library! I had never before stayed at a hotel with a suite near as large, and the fact that it had a library was simply unheard of. The collection of books was so massive, that one could never hope to read them all.

"This is so fantastic!" Again, just as with the key, the endless pages of knowledge – he loved to learn; it did not matter what, he simply relished in gaining new information – intrigued Gustave. He never forgot any of it either; his little mind was like an unfaltering steep trap. Quickly, he scurried over to one of the numerous titles lining the walls.

"Now, if any of you should desire to use the stairs, I think you'll find Romeo and Juliet is what you're looking for." It was cryptic, to say the least, but we watched – all of us wanting to know how to escape should the need arise – as Kerie pulled a ratty edition of William Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet from a shelf. A moment later, the bookcase with the book, and shelf it had rested upon, opened outward, revealing a brightly lit spiral staircase.

"Amazing!" Gustave was frozen in awe. His inactivity only lasted a moment and then he was alive again with excitement. "Father, may I go down it now, please?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Why not?" He challenged heatedly. He was getting angry – the telltale amber ring was shinning brighter by the second.

"Because I said so! That's why!" Raoul drank down the remainder of the liquid in the glass melded to his hand – it was his third already – and sighed in irritation. "Why must you fight me every step of the way? WHY! " Not waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back the way he had come; back to the liquor.

Gustave stood in the middle of the room looking smaller than he had only a moment before. The proud, strong, fiery young man who had argued with his father was gone. It was just my ten year old child instead. I went to him.

"Later, sweetheart – I promise." I tried to hold him to me, but he sullenly pulled back. I did not blame him; he was hurting.

Kerie's mask fell – uncomfortable now, you could tell. "To close the door from here, simply place the book back in its place. To close it from the other side, pull down on the unlit torch you'll find on the wall, and the entrance shall close behind you. The same goes for opening it."

"Thank you, Kerie. We are very grateful for your kindness." Raoul might not have been, but I was.

"It's been my pleasure. If you or anyone else should require anything, use the telephone in the room through which we came, dial zero and Collette will take care of all your needs."

"Yes, Kerie. Thank you."

Kerie bowed and left the room. It was Bridgett, Gustave and I. I hoped seeing the staircase would calm her, but Bridgett did not look any more relieved than she had before.

I walked to her and patted her shoulder in reassurance. "Do not worry, Bridgett – everything will be alright."

She shook her head feebly and smiled weakly. "I shall start unpacking, Madame."

It was just Gustave and I.

I went to him again, where he stood with his back to me, absently running his fingers over the titles before him, but before I could lay my hands upon him, he turned to face me.

"I'm fine, Mother. I suppose Father is very tired – that's all." He was not fine and we both knew Raoul was not tired; he was trying to be brave – for me.

_God, how much I love him._

"Yes, darling**,** he is tired." Both of us knew contrary, yet we played the game all the same. "Come, let us look around. I know you saw that fine piano, but what of the rest of our rooms?"

That was what we did, went from room to room – there were eleven in total. Off of the library was a hallway which lead to a master bedroom, three additional bedrooms could be accessed from the hall, a kitchen, a washroom and a room designed with a child in mind, a playground of sorts. That room was Gustave's favorite. It was filled with toys, games, anything a child could want to play with. It was as though it had been made just for him, it was wonderful. It was there that we stopped a while. I did not mind sitting back as Gustave busied himself, I loved watching him. He was smiling, it brought him joy, and that was all that mattered.

Finally, we made our way back to the sitting room. Bridgett was busy situating our things in our rooms. Raoul however, was wearing down the plush carpet from his ceaseless pacing. I had hoped we had been gone long enough that he would have cooled down, but he was obviously still irate.

"Where have you two been? It's been an hour!" He had drank far more in our absence; his words were somewhat slurred and that spoke volumes.

"We were looking over the different rooms, and we found one that–" He was not listening and did not let me finish.

"I simply cannot get over the nerve – the malice of such a slight!" _Malice_ – was he joking? I knew however, that he was not and that it would all go so much more smoothly if I did not say a thing.

He was nowhere near through voicing his complaints. "How dare they treat us in such a disrespectful fashion! Who does that Mr. Whye think he is? Well, I don't care who he is, who he knows, or how much money he has**,****;** the manner in which we're being treated is beyond insulting!"

I remained silent, while Gustave tuned it all out. He was occupied, with what I could not see, his back was to me.

"Have you nothing to say about any of this, Christine?"

I did not feel as though we had been slighted in any way, nor that we had been treated poorly. There was nothing for me to say. He wanted me to agree, not contradict.

"I am sure that no one intended a slight."

"Not intended! Are you mad!" He looked at me as though I had ten heads. "Of course it was deliberate! Don't be stupid, Christine! It was an outright slap in the face! I seriously have a mind to pack and go!" He sighed, gulped down another brandy and revealed, "But this would erase all our debts, and we no longer have the luxury of pride. Who would have ever thought such a thing was a luxury, but it is." Slumping down on the burgundy sofa, he put his head in his hands and sighed. "I never would have dreamed we would sink so low."

The angry man had vanished, leaving behind the sad boy. Even through all of his nasty ways, remarks and actions, I could not find it within me**, **to not reach out to him in comfort. I sat down beside him and placed my hand upon his shoulder.

"Darling, do not fret. I am sure all will be fine once–"

"Don't patronize me, Christine! It's your fault we're here at all!"

"My fault?" There were many things for which I was to be held accountable for, but our mountain of debt was Raoul's cross to bear, not mine.

"Yes! I knew how much performing again would mean to you! Of course we need the money, but that was not the main reason! It was for you! That's why I agreed to all of this!" The boy was long gone, and the angry man was back.

There was no reasoning with the angry man, but I would try,as I always did.

"Please, darling – I do not want to quarrel. If it would make you happy we can leave this place tonight. Say the word and I will follow you anywhere." I knew that he would never abandon the money – it meant too much to him – but the surprise that filled his eyes as I had spoke, was unexpected.

"You would do that?"

"Yes. If you truly want to go home and work on . . . _changing_, I would march right in and tell Bridgett to repack everything she has unpacked and we will leave immediately." I was not lying. If he wanted to return home on those terms, I would flee in a moment. It would mean he truly was looking to change.

My words seemed to soothe his temper; again**,** he fell heavily onto the settee.

"Father, come look at what they gave to me!" Gustave cried, running towards us with a note of some kind, along with the toy that had first grabbed his attention when we had walked in. "It's for me! The note says so!"

"Not now, son – please, not now." Raoul was not harsh with him, just weary.

Gustave, however – once that excited by something – was not easily swayed.

"But look! If you wind it, it plays a melody!"

Sure enough, the little toy – a boy playing a piano – began to move and play! It was a music box. Each finger pressed an ivory key, which in turn moved to create an enchanting melody. It was whimsical and light. The little box was amazing. No sooner had I turned to Raoul and smiled, quite taken with the little thing – for I had never seen anything quite like it. . . .

That I realized, the revelation hitting me as hard as brick, that I had seen something like it – _just like it_.

I watched as Raoul saw the similarity, the past rising to shadow his eyes, and standing it no more, he rose abruptly.

"I need some air." Stopping to refill his empty glass before exiting, he swallowed it quickly and made for the door.

"Raoul, please–"

"Please what!" He spat, as he turned at the open door.

"Nothing." I did not want to fight any longer. I wanted to be able to turn and let him go, but I could not. I was compelled to add, "Please – do not drink anymore."

"Is that all?" My desperate plea had fallen on deaf ears.

I nodded, turning from him – I could not stand to see who he had become any longer. I heard, as well as felt, as he slammed the door closed behind him.

And here I was hoping he would change.

"Father never plays with me. Doesn't he love me?"

_My poor Gustave._

"Darling, of course your Father loves you! He loves you very much! He is not angry with you, but with himself."

_Damn Raoul!_

I wanted to kill him for making Gustave feel as though he were unloved, unwanted. As hard as Raoul could be with him, I knew that he loved the child – just as I knew that no matter how mean he could be to me, he still loved me. But trying to make a ten year old understand the many rules of love was another matter.

"Then why doesn't Father show it?" Tears began to well within his doubtful eyes.

"He does love you, darling. It is just . . . hard for him to express it at times." He was still unconvinced. "Love, Gustave – it is a very curious thing. It so often comes disguised and if you do not look closely, it could slip right from your fingers. Look with your heart. If you do that, it shall never lead you astray. The heart never lies. Trust what it tells you – no matter what. Do you understand me?" He shook his head, but I knew that he did not.

"Learn from someone who knows, darling – love that is misunderstood can often end in regret." I never wanted Gustave to feel the sharp pangs of regret.

_Regret._

If there was anything worse, I could not think of it. At the end of the day it was regret that festered within us; it lingered on and on. . . .

Pulling me from my dark thoughts, Gustave spoke. "I promise to try and always look with my heart, Mother."

I smiled. "Yes, my love, I believe that you will. And if you do so, you shall see how very much your father loves you."

"Yes, Mother." He smiled back. He meant every word, and more importantly, he had understood what I had said.

I held him close – he was getting so tall – kissed the top of his honey haired head and released him.

"It has been a long day, darling. I think perhaps it is time for you to eat a little something and then retire. Bridgett?"

She entered the room immediately.

"Yes, Madame?" She too looked spent.

"Please see that Gustave has something to eat, and then retires right after. He is more tired than he thinks." I smiled at him lovingly.

"Of course, Madame. Is there anything else?"

"No Bridgett that will be all. The Comte has gone out for the night and I am not sure when he shall return. I have much on my mind and do not have an appetite. I believe I will get some air out on the balcony before I retire. Have you finished unpacking?"

"Just, Madame. The furniture – it is some of the finest I have ever seen. This place is almost too lovely to be real." It was quite clear that she did not feel any more comfortable.

Ignoring her statement, I said, "After you have seen to Gustave, you may have the rest of the night to do with as you please, Bridgett. We will not be needing you further."

She nodded.

Without speaking, Gustave left my side and I watched as he disappeared out the door beside Bridgett.

It was not fair. I never wanted this life for my son.

_Change._

I had thought it would be unavoidable, yet we were right where we were in Paris.

I sighed. My head ached from the tremendous weight of my thoughts. Without realizing I had wandered there, I found myself standing beside the magnificently beautiful piano. I noticed the sheet music resting upon it, and to give my wandering mind something to do, I began to hum the melody.

It was beautiful.

More than beautiful – it was magnificent. It captured me more than any piece I had heard in. . . .

_Oh, my God._

In a fog of numbing realization, I picked up the toy music box – so unique, yet so familiar and walked out on to the balcony, I needed air – and wound it.

The melody it played was not the same, but it was also not unfamiliar – no, it was _very_ familiar.

I felt a slight shift in the air. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, my breath caught, as my heart accelerated.

I was not alone. . . .

***Hey guys!**

**Sorry it's taken me so long to get this out, but these last three chapters (since 5) have been larger than I've thought they were going to be – hopefully in a good way – and have taken more time to write than I ever thought ;) I hope you like this one! Please let me know what you think in a review :) **

**To my beta, GraySkies29: You are THE BEST beta ANYONE could EVER ASK FOR ***like the caps? LOL*** ;) Seriously, thank you so much!**

**-Shannon***


	8. Erik: Reunion

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Erik:**__"Reunion"_

_Today is the day._

Christine would be arriving within the hour, and my battered heart beat wildly in my chest knowing that mere minutes were all that separated us.

All of my dreams, my plans, were at last being realized.

Phantasma's first season could not have gone better. The masses had embraced and fallen in love with it; more so than with Luna or Steeplechase Park. I had to admit that fact alone thrilled me the most.

It was a success. And in turn, that meant that _I_ was a success.

While I was still quite sore at Giry for her infernal meddling, I could not deny how helpful she had proven to be. Were it not for her determination and patience with the low-life investors, corrupt politicians, and the ever immoral press – Phantasma would still be only a dream within my mind. I did not have the ability to grin and bear it – as Madeline would say – and therefore, would never have gotten anywhere were it not for her.

And Nadir – affable, Nadir. . . .

I had forgotten how greatly I had missed his company. I was quite happy to see how well he was enjoying Coney. He was my friend, perhaps the only one besides Madeline who had ever been so, and I hoped that he would remain a while, if not indefinitely. Retirement seemed to suit him perfectly here. He lounged during the day, while at night he enjoyed the pleasures of the island. He was the happiest I had seen him since Reza's death.

I felt for him.

I too, missed the child. I had none of my own – would never know what it was like to be a father – but all the same . . . I could only imagine what it must be like to lose one's child.

People, I have found, are irreplaceable.

We are not interchangeable. Once a person is gone, there will never be another who can take their place. There will never be another Reza for Nadir, just as there will never be another Christine for me. Yet, Nadir had not dealt with Reza's absence in the same manner as I had Christine's. Perhaps it was because he had known that Reza would not be his for long, where I had foolishly believed that she would be mine forever.

How wrong I had proven to be.

A rap upon the door broke my thoughts. I sighed and went to it. I knew the only one who knocked, and did not use the electric bell, was Nadir.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Daroga?" I asked, my lips curved in amusement.

Frowning, he pushed his way past me into the room. "I know you are up to something, do not try and persuade me otherwise. All week long you have been unusually happy!"

Smirking, I answered, "What Daroga, can I not be happy on occasion?"

"Erik, do not play me or take me as an ordinary fool! I know _you_, and I know there is something up your sleeve. Being your friend, and knowing full-well how you operate, I am trying to dissuade you from whatever it is that you have planned."

While I had been cautious not to reveal my plans to anyone, not even Nadir, it appeared as though my buoyant behavior had not gone unnoticed.

"Very well, my friend. I admit that I do have something coming up. As I told you when you first arrived – I want her back, Nadir. I want to show her how I have changed. So, with a little scheming, as you would call it, and money, she will be here in less than an hour."

"What? But, but – _how_? Erik, my God, what have you done!" He was completely flabbergasted. His naturally tawny skin darkened to a deep shade of fuchsia in his burgeoning anger.

"I said," drawing in a long breath before continuing, "that Christine will be here within the hour. And how? Well, my dear Daroga – all I had to do was offer the right incentive. A one night performance at Phantasma, for a ridiculous sum – which I knew de Chagny would not refuse – and here she comes!" I could not help the smooth smile of satisfaction that curved my lips.

Nadir was silent.

"And as to your last inquiry, I have only done what I must." Turning my back to him, I mumbled, more to myself than to him, "Only what I must. . . ."

"Erik," swallowing before he went on, he walked towards me. "You have no conception of what you have done. None whatsoever! She is a married woman – a _mother_! She is no longer the sixteen year old virgin you so desired. You have not only jeopardized her life, but the lives of us all!"

While I knew he had valid accusations, he was yet again wearing upon my last nerve.

"It will be nothing like before, Nadir. This time history will not be repeating its self."

"Erik, I am not concerned that you will act as you did before, but that you will not!" He sighed and fell heavily into the leather chair he favored. Running his hands through his black hair, taking a steadying breath, he continued, "I know you have changed, anyone can see so. You are not who you once were, as I am sure**,** nor is she. Time changes us all. What if the woman you find now, no longer resembles the girl you knew? And worse still – what if she does? You know how difficult it was for her to deny you then, and now, being in the position that she is in, I fear she will not be able to resist you."

"You say that as though it were a bad thing, Nadir. So what if she cannot resist me? Why should she!" The insolent child within had surfaced; the one who detested being told what he could and could not have.

"Because she is no longer yours! She has a whole life that will be disrupted because of your obsession! What of the child? Have you even considered him or have you been too consumed with your selfishness to have thought of anyone but yourself? Things are not as they were. There are others, of whom you must think–"

"Do not – for even a moment – think that I have not contemplated every angle, every single aspect of what I am doing, because I have. And while I am quite aware that it might alter everything, it is simply a chance I am going to have to take."

"But the child, Erik – please think of what this could do to him. His whole life could be ripped out from under him! It is not fair that he should have to suffer for you to achieve happiness."

"His whole life changed," I scoffed. "And that would be so terrible, would it?" I asked, glaring. "Was it not you who told me that the boy's father was a drunk, a louse, that his mother was almost killed because of this so called father? And you honestly believe that is better for him? Please," I spat. "de Chagny does not deserve him. Or her – or any of it!" Pacing the floor, completely worked up, I sighed and appealed, "My girl is dying there, I know it. I can sense it. And before long she shall. Can you not see that I can give them more than _him_?"

"I agree, as of late the Comte has not been the husband or the father that he should be. But sadly, in the end, he is still her husband and still the boy's father. _You_ are not." He said the last with no bitterness, or malice; he was merely stating a fact.

"Yes, unfortunately I am aware of that." How well I knew that I was neither.

Releasing a sigh, I took a seat on the settee across from Nadir, who looked as though he were still judging my reaction to his previous comment, and when he saw no anger, he went on.

"Erik, my dear, dear friend. Please understand that no one wants you to find happiness more than I. But I do not think it fair, or right to sabotage a marriage – a whole family – in order to attain it."

"Sabotage?" I laughed. "I assure you, I am not. If their unity is so weak that it will crumble from a little . . . . _meddling_, than what kind of family is it? I promise you that I will not force anything upon her ever again. If she stays, it will be because she wants to. Freely – on her own accord. If she does not stay, then it was not meant to be and I will let her go. Forever."

His dark eyes searched mine for a sign of truth, which he must have found, for he relented. "Very well. I can see that no matter what I say,it will not sway you from the course you have chosen. But please, I beg of you, keep in mind the severity of all your actions."

"Keep in mind?" I snickered bitterly. "Daroga, the weight of my actions – every single one – is embedded on my mind. They never leave me. I am haunted daily."

"Do not ask me to participate in any of your schemes, Erik. Do you hear me? I will not; I refuse." He paused a moment, realizing who it was that he was denying, then added, "I am not trying to be harsh, my friend. I simply do not wish to be entangled in your love affairs again."

"Love _affairs_? As in a plural statement? Ah, yes, because there have been so many of those." I replied sarcastically.

"You know what I meant, Erik."

"Yes, yes I do, Daroga, and I swear to you that you shall not be placed in the middle of my _love affairs, _as you so call them, however. . . ." I paused, gathering a breath before going on. "However, I might require your help around the hotel and park – seeing as I will be otherwise detained. I will not have the time to devote to the business that is needed, and that is where I am hoping you will come in; there is no one I trust as well."

He smiled quickly, revealing his pleasure at being whom I had entrusted with such a responsibility, but just as quickly his face fell."But what about Madeline, is she not your business manager? Should not she be the one to attend to things while you are . . . _detained_? I am quite flattered that you asked, but still – what of Madeline? Do you not trust her equally?"

"While Giry has been of much help, handling small affairs, the booking and such, and has proven herself quite trustworthy thus far – she still told de Chagny where I was that night, where Christine was, and that is a betrayal I am not sure I can ever fully forget in order to trust her completely. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do." He seemed both inwardly pleased and sad at the same time. "And I assure you**,** that I will do my very best to tend to whatever you should require of me in your absence."

"Thank you, Daroga."

His face morphed from a mask of pleasure, to one of severity, and before he could get started in on another one of his lectures, speeches – whatever he was planning on saying next – I interrupted his thoughts."I know, Nadir. I shall always keep in mind how my actions affect others. All right?" I smiled lightly; a smile he returned. "I promise – it will be nothing like before."

My words eased him;he sighed. "I will make no mention of it. From this moment on, Erik, your actions are your own. I shall not interfere, or say a word – as hard as that will prove to be**,**" he chuckled. "Unless you ask."

"You are a very good friend, Daroga, perhaps one that I do not deserve. I thank you." How he stayed around me as long as he had, I shall never know. But I was grateful for it – for _him_.

Smiling widely, showing teeth yellowed with age, he rose and walked to the door as I followed.

Before he could leave, I warned. "Do not say a word of this to Giry, do you understand?"

His eyes grew large, and he was once again the picture of anything but ease.

"But Madeline will surely find out! How can she not? You know that woman misses nothing. I am sure that if I realized you were up to something, so has she. You cannot actually believe that you can hide this from her?"

"I do not want to hide anything from, Giry. I simply wish to delay her knowledge. When the time comes she will know."

"She will be shocked beyond the telling of it, Erik! Why not tell her now and warn her?"

"I have my reasons, Daroga." That was all I would say. The topic of Giry had come to a close. If Giry knew Christine was to arrive, she would try to stop, disrupt, all the plans I had in motion, and that I could not allow.

"Very well, you must do as you wish. I said I would not _lecture_ and I will not. I only pray to Allah that you find the happiness and love you seek." He said no more. I opened the door, and watched as he walked down the hall.

I knew all of his fears, because they were my own. I knew how valid his concern was, yet I did not care.

Nothing was going to keep me from her.

Not two minutes later, seated at my desk, rifling through papers for the new attraction I had in mind for the park, the electric bell rang, informing me someone was again at the door.

Opening it, I saw the one person I did not want to see.

"Would you like to explain to me what is going on?" Giry demanded, as she pushed her way past me into the suite.

Closing the door behind her, I innocently replied, "I am sure I have no idea what you are referring to, Madeline."

She turned, narrowing her hazel eyes. "Do not lie to me, Erik! Those – those minions of yours have been acting very suspicious all day, and now they have run off with the carriage used for our guests. And you! You have been acting unlike yourself all week. So tell me – what is _The Phantom_ up to now?"

That woman could creep under my skin in the worst way. She knew how much I loathed to be reminded of the title I had once claimed as mine; one Giry reverted to calling me by when she felt the need to get a rise from me. But today, I was not biting.

"Madeline, I admit I have something . . . coming up. A one night event that will leave everyone breathless – a night I am sure you will find quite . . . _memorable_. But it is something good, of that I assure you." It was a merciful blessing that Giry did not read the papers and was not one to look for the latest news, for if she was, she would know that Christine was not only coming to New York, but to Phantasma – to _me_. The fact the Comtess de Chagny was going to perform after ten years away from the limelight was not something the press was going to pass up.

Peering into my eyes, she shook her head."I do not believe you, Erik! Your paper thin explanation is not good enough for me. I want to know what is going on and I want to know now!" She was heated, and not about to budge.

"I told you, Madeline – it is a surprise."

"Erik, so help me – I will walk out that door right now, and you shall never see me again, if you do not tell me what is going on!"

I could not have her interfere. I had planned the moment when Christine and I would be reunited, dreamt of it, and I would not have it sullied by her. I would give her just enough to satiate her.

"There is a very brilliant performer who is arriving today, with their family. This artist is to perform in the last show of the season. That is why Squelch, Fleck and Gangle have taken the carriage. They are receiving our guests." Squelch, Fleck and Gangle were my most valued performers and the ones who had been with me all the way back to the side show I had owned and run before coming to Coney; I trusted them to receive Christine.

"_Who_ is this performer?" She questioned suspiciously.

"Someone, who I have no doubt you will agree, has vast talent."

"And what of Meg? You promised that she would star in the last show! And have a fantastic number! Or have you forgotten that?" It seemed that keeping the identity of the performer from her, did not bother her nearly as much as the idea that her daughter would be slighted.

"I have not forgotten about Megan, Madeline – I would never do that. I promised that she would star in the last, most important, show of the season, and I meant it. As we speak she is rehearsing with McKinney in preparation for the show. I guarantee that she will shine. However, it is not fair that she should take every ounce of glory. The performance I have planned will be short and will not take the spotlight from Megan." That was a lie. If Christine did perform, no one would ever remember or care about little Megan Giry;she did not possess an ounce of the musical magic that Christine innately held.

She softened a bit, but not completely.

"I still want to know who it is that will be performing." She was not going to let this go.

"Madeline," I sighed. "Please, for once trust me when I say that it is best left as a surprise."

"Erik, I will not be –" She stopped mid-sentence, as the electric bell sounded again informing us there was someone at the door.

Again.

I had more visitors at my door in forty minutes than I had all week.

When I opened the door, there stood Megan, still in costume – a revealing checkered bathing suit – and bright with excitement. I was not sure why she was there; she did not have a scheduled lesson with me until next week.

"Hello**.****,** Megan. What can I do for you?"

"My mother's here, isn't she?" Before I could say yes, or no, she burst past me and ran to her mother.

Releasing a long sigh, running my hands through my hair, I closed the door. "Well, now it seems all the Girys are together. I already know why your mother is here, but I'll ask you again, what can I do for you, Megan?"

"Oh, Mother – Master! Did you see? Were you watching the rehearsals? It was fantastic!" She was aglow with delight. "It went so well!" Turning to me, her face the picture of gratitude. "Thank you for writing such a wonderful piece. I love it!" Clasping her hands together like the school girl that she still resembled, she squealed with glee. But just as quickly as her excitement had come, it vanished and concern ruled her. "Was I really all right? I can do it differently, if you wish?" She looked to her mother, then to me,for a sign of approval.

"Meg, dear – we were not there to see but I am sure you were marvelous." Giry lovingly stroked her daughter's face, and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"I can't wait for the last show, it's going to be wonderful! The crowds will love it! And then,maybe I'll be–" But before the girl could finish, her mother interrupted.

"Meg, please dear, the master and I have some very important things to discuss." If looks could kill, Madeline's fiery glare – aimed in my direction – would have done so. "Go now. Spend some time with your friends. I shall see you later."

She was not pleased to leave, but did so with her head down**;****,** resembling a dog who departs with its tale between its legs.

As soon as the door shut, Giry was upon me.

"Erik I want to know who is coming here to perform!"

"Madeline it is a surprise." She was backing me into a corner, and I was going to have to persuade her; something I did not like to do.

"Have I not been by your side this whole time? Helped you in every way that I can?"

Nodding wearily – once she got started, she was not easily swayed – I walked into the Versailles styled sitting room and poured a glass of scotch. The warm elixir immediately soothed my irritated nerves.

"Meg and I have aided you with all that we can, with everything you have ever asked of us. It was us who helped you escape Paris, us who helped you buy that side show, and it has been us who has stood by you through it all. For all of that, I deserve your respect. And respect, Erik,is not toying with me!"

She was right. She did deserve respect, and while I felt bad for _toying_ with her, I would not allow her to mar my long awaited reunion. Later, once I explained everything to Christine, I could care less what Giry would say or do. I knew I had to get Giry out of the picture, send her away for a while. I had hoped that she would not have caught on until later, that she would have been too occupied with work to notice, but that was not the case.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I do respect you, but I will not say who is arriving." Smiling, I revealed, "But I do have an extremely important task I need you to complete for me."

"An errand? You are still toying with me, and you expect me to run to do your bidding? I do not think so, Erik. I am leaving, I am taking Meg and we are leaving. You can handle it all on your own!"

She turned quickly on her heel, her crimson hair, usually pinned up, was down and fell over her shoulder as she made for the exit. I had to admit she was quite attractive for her age.

Before she could open the door, I took her by the arm and gently halted her.

"Madeline," I purred. I knew when I wanted it to be my voice was a powerful tool. I hated to coerce her, but I had no choice. "Please," I urged her, my voice deep, soft, lyrical and velvet. "I _need_ you to do this for me. Beckman has been ill and cannot make it here to inspect the business's progress. He wants a face to face meeting. You know you are the only one he likes. He owes us money, I want it Madeline, and I want _you_ to get it for me." It was not a lie. I had heard from Beckman, and he did require a meeting, but I was planning on sending Giry, when the two new attractions I had under construction were complete. The trip to Beckman, however, would have to be done now.

Her cream colored cheeks, with their pale freckles, turned scarlet as I turned her around to face me.

"Please, Madeline. You shall be home in a few days time, not too long a journey, and I assure you that you will be back before the closing performance."

"No, Erik I cannot –" But her resistance was waning.

"You know how I feel about your position as manager, and how brilliant I think you are with the business. And yes, I agree. The only reason I am where I am today, is because of you." My voice was filled with a melodious seduction that had proven time and time again to be irresistible. "I am asking you again now, to please do this for me, as only you are able."

Her emerald eyes that gazed into mine were glassy, hazy and unfocused, a tell-tale sign that she was about to heed to my demand.

"Yes, I – yes, all right – I will do it!" Breathlessly, she snatched her arm from my grasp, her eyes beginning to clear, as she spoke. "But I am only doing this because you are right. Beckman does not like you, and I am not about to lose his patronage. I am going for the good of the park, for the good of its future, and not for you!"

Still flustered, she made for the door, opened it and said, "You are lucky that I have put as much of my own heart and soul into this place as you. If I had not, I would not travel all the way to Boston! And," she came closer, pointing her slim finger in my face, "I expect you to behave while I am gone."

I laughed. "Yes, Mother."

She scoffed and her mood brightened, "Mother! I think not!"

"Yes," I smiled cynically. "I fear no one wants that title – even its rightful owner."

"Erik, I did not mean–"

"No, Madeline, I know you did not mean any harm with your words. And I want you to know how very much I appreciate all that you have done for me. No matter what should ever happen I will be forever thankful." I meant it with all honesty.

My words pleased her and she smiled. "You can drive me near mad on occasion, Erik. But if I did not believe in your genius, I would not be here."

"Thank you, Madeline. I'll be sure to let Beckman know you are on your way."

"Yes, do that. I am sure, no doubt, that Beckman will be thrilled. The poor man, even with all his money, it seems as though he has no one to confide in. Every time we meet, he never shuts up!"

She laughed, as did I. Then she was gone and instinctively, I pulled the watch from my pocket and gazed at the time.

Twenty minutes. . . .

I had thought that nothing but excitement would claim me in the moments spent waiting to see her again, but fear and anxiety were outweighing it.

I dressed, careful to ensure every article of clothing was in place. I had always been a meticulous dresser, but I found that on this day, I was obsessed with looking my best.

Then I laughed.

Gazing at myself in the mirror, I realized how absurd I was acting. Why should I care how well I looked? After all, no matter how impeccably I was dressed, the white mask would always take center stage.

Then I remembered who it was that I was worried about looking my best for.

_Christine._

The only one**,** who had ever genuinely proven to me that my revolting looks, did not matter.

She saw past it all.

From my desk, I lifted the gift I had made for the child – and his mother, no doubt she would remember, and slipped from my suite, using the secret passage I built during the hotel's construction. As much as I loathed being reminded of my days as the Phantom of the Opera, old habits, I had learnt, do not die easily. I simply could not resist crafting a hidden passage behind the wall length mirror within my bedchamber. Through the deceptive mirror, and the hidden halls beyond, I was able to access any section of the hotel. Each door required a specific key to open it. I would never again make the mistake of leaving access open for any inquisitive mind to stumble upon. I felt in my pocket, making sure the onyx and garnet rose topped key was still there; it was.

One of the many marvels of electricity was the elimination of fire as light. Gone were the torches from the walls, replaced by electric lights. It made things all the simpler. Within moments, I was upon the door which would open to the suite Christine was going to occupy. Inserting the key, I watched as the two-way mirrored wall swung open into the sitting room.

I walked about the suite quickly, positive that every item was as it should be, placed the music box upon the piano – fitting since the toy was a child playing a piano – then I went back through the mirror, closed it, and waited.

I did not have to wait long.

From where I stood hidden behind the glass, I had a perfect view of the entering family.

While I had sworn that I would not fail, that this time around it would be me whom she chose, I could not prevent the sharp pang in my heart as I saw them all together.

It was only momentarily however, for as soon as de Chagny opened his mouth and spoke, I felt nothing but disgust. I could not believe the tired, worn out and aged man that I gazed upon was ever the youthful boy who had almost bested me.

Drawing my attention from de Chagny, the child fled to the piano, and lifted the toy music box. Immediately, he was taken by it, as I knew he would be. He did not seem to see the small note I had placed beside the trinket, informing him that the gift was indeed for him. His high spirit was quickly extinguished, as the frightened girl who traveled with them, anxiously inquired about a way out. She did not appear at all at ease in Phantasma; it was not meant for everyone.

They left and the first to make their way back to the sitting room was de Chagny. He went for the brandy, poured one, immediately followed by another, and then another. I watched him pace about the room, mumbling complaints about the atrocity of the situation. His displeasure was highly enjoyable to observe, it certainly made due for entertainment while I waited for Christine's return.

An hour later, they returned and I had to clench my fist at my side as I as listened to the way he spoke to her. The instinct to snap his unworthy neck, so strong it took all my self control to quell it.

Before long the boy was back at the piano, the music box again in hand. Gaining his parents'attention at last, I watched as the significance of the object dawned on their faces. That was all de Chagny could stand, and finally he left.

My heart went out to the poor child as I listened to him question his father's love. I knew what it was like, to doubt the love of a parent, and no child should ever have to endure such an uncertainty. But unlike me, he had one parent who quite obviously loved him. My beautiful girl was a marvelous mother. She was made for it. I had never seen her glow like she did when she was near the boy. A tiny amount of jealousy passed through me – I so wished that it were I who could have given her a child, tying her to me permanently, and not de Chagny.

The boy left with the young girl – the maid, I presumed – and I watched as Christine eyed the sheet music for the aria I had written solely for her and begin to sing.

I could have easily died happy in that moment.

When she was done, she picked up the music box, wound it again, and paled as she heard the familiar tune. Hastily,she made her way from the suite out onto the balcony.

It was then that I slipped from the shadows.

Noiselessly, I made my way to her, and the nearer I drew, the more intensely my heart raced. She was so exquisite; age had only caused her beauty to increase. The distance of ten long years about to be bridged – I could reach out and touch her if I chose–

She spun around to face me. She showed no sign of shock, but of comprehension. Slowly, she stepped backward, her hand out-stretched, warding me off. Yet, like the moth, who is irresistibly drawn to the deadly flame, I went to her. She continued to back up, clumsily making her way into the suite.

"I should have known that it was you!" She shook her head. "It was daft of me not to have known that this has all been your doing. This entire affair bears the Phantom's stamp!"

I winced at the mention of my former title. She was angry, and I could not blame her. After all, it was _I_ who had abandoned _her_.

"_Christine_." For a moment it was all that I could breathe; her proximity overwhelming my senses.

I grew closer, and when I was within reaching-distance, she ran to the opposite side of the piano.

"I cannot do this with you, Erik! I have a life!" She hissed.

I tried to move to her side again, but again**, **she shied away.

"Please, Christine let me explain!" I plead as I sprang forward, taking hold of her by the waist, causing her to lose her balance and her backside to press upon the ivory keys of the piano, playing out a discordant tune of denial. Though she struggled for freedom, I would not let go.

"Erik, please I am begging you – do not do this!" She cried, still attempting to escape my grasp.

"Listen to me, Christine! Please listen!" I shook her, angry. If she would stop fighting for one moment I could expla–

Before I could finish the thought, I was slapped.

Christine had slapped me.

In my shock, I nearly released her, but the sight of her flushed face**, **and full lips, kept my hands firmly rooted in place.

"_That_ was uncalled for."

"That was uncalled for?" She spat, still squirming in my arms. "And what about all that you have done to me? What of that, Erik!" Her usually downy voice was raw and harsh with fury.

I had never witnessed her so livid before, and had also never seen her look as lovely.

"If you stop fighting me for a minute, and promise not to run, I will tell you everything."

The tigress in my grasp was not willing to relent. "There is nothing for you to explain, for there is nothing that you could ever say that would make what you did right!" The volume of her voice had started off low, no doubt not wanting to rouse the boy, but now it reaching a crescendo.

"I suggest you lower your voice, my love. Or perhaps you wish for your son to come upon us in such a – well, how would one say it – state?"

She blanched at the mention of the boy. "No, no I do not. Now please, let me go!"

"Only if you will allow me to talk before you flee."

She went soft in my arms, no longer resisting; my hold upon her eased, yet I never wanted to let go.

"Say what you must, Erik and I shall listen, but do not believe that it will alter anything!" She warned.

I knew she was lying. I knew that she could feel the electrical force that pulled us together, and wanted to give in to it, as much as I did.

"I will however, let you explain." She added softly.

"What a pity." I grinned, running my hand up the length of her arm. "I was enjoying the fight."

I released her and watched as she flushed an even darker shade of crimson, and brought her hand to her heaving chest, and backed away.

"Erik, say what you must and then leave." She had turned cold again; no longer the flame but a destructive glacier.

"You remember that night, do you not, Christine?" Cautiously, I moved closer, and noticed that she did not back away; she was lost in the memory of a night, I knew, neither of us would – _could_ – ever forget.

"Yes, she breathed. "_That night_. . . ." Her eyes were glassy with remembrance.

"The eve of your wedding?" The comment came out more venomous than I had intended. I knew it was _I_ who had left _her_, but that she could – the next day – marry _him_, tore at me.

"Yes, Erik – I remember." She was back, her focus clear and cold. "As if I shall ever be able to forget?"

"Do you wish to forget, Christine?"

Her icy resolve held firm. "Yes, I do wish to forget. But I am cursed – for I cannot." She sighed. "You still haunt my every moment."

"And you, mine."

She scoffed. "Do not play me for a fool, Erik. You left, remember? Why should my existence concern you at all? It has been over ten years and not a word from you. Yet you say that I haunt you. If that were the case, you would have sought me sooner."

She could not possibly believe what she was saying. . . .

But she did – it suffused her toffee colored eyes.

_Hate_.

She loathed me for abandoning her.

"You cannot possibly think that I had any other choice but to leave?"

"Didn't you, though?" Asked the ice queen.

"No, of course I did not!"

I grabbed her, drawing her body to mine, and ignoring her protests, I silenced her argumentative mouth with my own. Her lips hardened under mine, but I would not release them. I had waited so long to kiss her, and before I could process another rational thought, she was kissing me back – returning my ardor with that of her own. I ran my hand up her back where I wound it in her silken hair. My free hand roamed the length of her, once again lost in the bliss of exploring the softness of her curves. I allowed her lips to break free of mine,to draw in a ragged breath, then standing the separation a moment longer, I drew her back to meet my demanding mouth.

I heard a sweet moan escape her and I knew I never wanted the moment to end.

I was home. _She_ was my home.

Then, as though being suddenly awoken from a comforting dream of warmth by frigid cold, her lips left mine and my yearning body was thrust backward.

Gaspingand moving away, her arms out, again warding me off, the ice queen had returned. "How dare you try and claim me now!" She raged. "How dare you come and invade my life like this! What makes you think you have such a right? What, Erik – have you tired of whomever is your protégé now?"

Before I could object and assure her that there was no one but her – it had always been _her_ – she went on.

"Perhaps when I was a stupid child, I would have come running back, but not anymore, Erik. I am no longer yours."

"Christine, how could you even – Of course there is no one – How could you ever think –" I could not articulate, I was stuttering – a thing I never did. I drew in a steadying breath, and tried again. "There is only you! There will only ever be _you_! Can you not see that I left because I loved you, because you deserved better than the man I was then, than the life that would have been yours? But that is why I have brought you to me now. I have changed. It has taken me ten torturous years to do so, but I am at last where I need to be. The cards have been rearranged, my love – fate has given us another chance. Everything has changed. But my love for you – that has never changed. I love you, Christine."

She stood frozen, and I watched as her chocolate eyes welled with tears and one slid down her porcelain face. "But you left, Erik. _You left me_. . . ."

I ran to her and rested her lavender scented head on my shoulder. "I know I did, my girl – but only because I had to." Pulling her away from my shoulder, I looked into her eyes and repeated, "Only because I _had_ to." I needed her to understand, to see that I had no choice.

A final tear fell from her eyes and not another. She stepped from my embrace.

"I loved you, Erik. I would have followed you anywhere you asked me to. And the agony of awakening to find that you had abandoned me . . . I would not wish such a pain on anyone."

"I know I hurt you, my love – but I had to. Can you not see that it was _you_ who gave me the strength to leave?"

She shook her head, still not comprehending.

"You will soon see all that I have accomplished here, all the wonders I have created – can share with the public – all because of you. All of it, every single thing that I have done, has been for _you_! I have truly changed, Christine, and I have you – the gift of your love, the hope of one day being worthy of you – to thank for it."

"Yes, Erik – just from the marvels I have seen so far in this hotel, I applaud you. But then, I have never doubted your genius. Your intentions, however. . . ." She let the sentence die in the air.

"I know that I have wronged you in the past, but that was then – I was different. What of now?"

"For us, Erik . . . there is no now." She sighed, bowing her head in defeat. "Once upon a time – there was a chance that perhaps things would have gone differently, but it was you who decided to throw that chance away, not I."

"But that was then, Christine –what of now, you have still not answered me."

"Yes, I have. I told you – there is no future for us. Now or ever. There cannot be, Erik. We have made choices – _I_ have made choices – and they cannot be undone."

"You are right. No matter how much I wish I had the ability to reverse time, I cannot. But I do not want to waste another moment without you. I _need_ you. And I know you need me." Reaching out, I placed my hand on her rising chest. "You have my heart, Christine. It is entangled with your own, and I want it back. It shall never be mine without you;it belongs to you."

Her ragged breath, blew sweet and warm upon my face. Her lips brushed mine and when I went to claim them, I heard him.

"Mother, I had another dreadful nightmare!"

Immediately, upon hearing the boy's voice, I extracted myself from his mother and moved to the side.

"Gustave!"

"What a dreadful dream, it was so awful, Mother!" He was already in her embrace.

Christine held the child and soothed, "There, there now, Gustave." The boy, who was so distraught over his dream, did not seem to notice my presence. "Someone I couldn't see was drowning me!"

Christine, already pale by the sudden appearance of the boy, grew shades whiter as he spoke.

"Hush, my darling – it was only a dream." She was highly bothered.

"I know Mother, but it _felt_ real."

"There is nothing to fear, my love, for I promise I shall never let any harm come to you. Ever." She vowed, rubbing the platinum hair from his face, and kissing his forehead.

The golden child smiled and hugged his mother; he seemed more at ease.

Glancing my way, then back to her son, she said, "Darling, I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine." Anxiously, she turned the child my way. "Gustave, meet Mr. Whye."

The child eyed me, and just like his mother – his natural beauty astounded me.

He was perfect.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." His voice was high and lyrical.

Just like his mother's.

"Welcome to my world, my friend."

"This place is yours?"

Grinning, I leaned down to his level, and whispered. "Every inch of it."

The child was elated. It appeared as though at least one of my new guests was enjoying Hotel Phantasma.

"Whatever you would like to see, I can show you. Any wish you so desire, simply name it and it shall be yours."

He was hesitant to answer at first, but then his eyes lit – the color within seemed to lighten, and he whispered, "Can you show me Phantasma? All that's wild and dark?"

"Gustave, please – Mr. Whye is a busy man and I am sure he has no time to–"

As the boy's eyes again darkened, I interrupted. "Of course I shall take the young Comte." I smiled, noting that the boy no made outward notice of my mask.

"Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!" His perfect face was bright with joy. Then, as if remembering his mother, he turned to Christine and asked, "That is all right, isn't Mother?"

My poor girl resembled a cornered animal, one with no way out but to submit. "Yes, yes of course it is all right, my love." She flashed him a weak smile. "But tomorrow – now you must return to bed."

"Yes, Mother." He smiled, kissed her cheek and bowed to me. "Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight. I will find you tomorrow and together we shall see it all."

"Thank you, sir!" He smiled enthusiastically and hurried off down the hall. The moment his door could be heard shutting, the tension in Christine's body left.

She could not possibly think that I would ever harm the child?

"You do not have to take him, Erik. I can tell him that you were unable."

"There's no need. I want to take him." As much as the existence of the boy bothered me, there was something about him I enjoyed.

She was still troubled. "No, Erik – you cannot possibly – I mean, surely you do not have the time–"

"But I do. Please, Christine. I would like to know your son. He is after all, part of you."

"Very well, Erik." She relented – suddenly appearing worn thin. "You must do as you will." I could not understand her discontent; I was simply going to show the boy around. "You will find him," she added, "very observant, highly intelligent and unlike other ten year olds his age."

"I can see that he is not simple, Christine."

Once again, her sorrow filled eyes welled. "You will fall in love with him . . . of that I am warning you."

"That is good. For with the love that I feel for his mother, I do not doubt that I shall come to love him, as well."

Silence.

I moved towards her. Her eyes closed in pleasure as I came up and encircled my arms around her slight waist.

"Please, Erik – you must leave now. I do not know when Raoul will return, but he will. He always does." She said the last sadly.

"Can I come to you tomorrow, angel?" I could feel her attempting to resist, but her stampeding heart, hot breath and responding body, won out. "Yes." It was a sultry purr; her eyes still closed in intoxication. The arousal I felt as she arched her back against me, turning her head to graze my neck with her searching lips, was unparalleled to anything I had felt before. I had to see her tomorrow . . . the two of us . . . alone. . . .

"Tomorrow, my love. Tomorrow." I promised**;****,** my voice raw with want.

I pulled the mass of curls to one side, and kissed the back of her neck. Before she could open her eyes, I was gone.

I watched through the glass a moment as she looked about in surprise, and standing her beauty no more – I walked away, and never wished more for the dawning of a new day as I did in that moment.

Tomorrow.

_Tomorrow_. . . .

***Author's Note:**

**Thank you all so much for sticking through with the story. I know it took me over a month to update, and I'm so sorry for leaving you all on a cliffhanger – that was mean, lol! I have every intention of finishing the story. I'm still not sure how it's going to end. It's up in the air as of now. So yes, my apologies for the delay, but as long as you guys keep reading and reviewing – I'll be writing ;) **

**Special thanks to my amazingly awesome beta Grayskies29: You. Are. The. Shit. ;p* **


	9. Christine: Impasse part one

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Christine:**__"Impasse" (Part One)_

He was gone.

But my heart sped on, as my mind reeled with his words, his voice ringing clearly in my head as I heard his promise.

_Tomorrow. . . ._

But tomorrow, what?

What did he expect me to do? I could not just leave my husband;I could not abandon Raoul.

_Could I?_

No, no of course, I could not. I had made a vow to Raoul, to God, one I could not break.

_Yet. . . ._

Every particle within me wanted him. I never wanted to hurt Raoul, but I could not stop the longing that coursed throughout me for _him_. I was very much stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I did know that I had promised that I would see him tomorrow – and that I would.

I had to.

If I gave up the chance to see him again, I would regret it forever.

I sighed and sat heavily upon the sofa, placing my head in my hands, and released another sigh. At least, by some merciful higher power, Erik had not been able to tell that Gustave was his. The moment Gustave had come into view, my heart had stopped. I had thought surely Erik would know – that he would somehow sense it. And then, when Gustave had become excited and his eyes began to change, I felt as though I would faint. But even then, he had still not realized. I was relieved, yet a part of me was wounded. I was hurt that he did not inherently know that standing right before him, was his son.

Again, my head ached – it throbbed with worry, with all the questions that I had no answers to which I liked. Should I stay and risk my marriage? Or leave and risk never seeing Erik again? The drumming in my head was reaching a crescendo. I tried to stand, wanting to lie in bed, but everything around me swirled. I lowered myself back down onto the sofa and stretched my legs as I closed my eyes and willed all thoughts from my troubled mind. Thankfully, by some sweet miracle, sleep came and took me in her dulcet embrace.

_It was bright. _

_So bright__**,**__ that the light I looked upon had no beginning and no end; it engulfed everything. It was so pure in color__**, **__that it left me breathless awe. Then it began to dim, and I realized I was on stage, a glittering garnet gown adorned my body, a full house seated before me, and that wonderful light, was an electric stage light aimed directly at me._

_I felt wonderful. I was where I belonged. I sang with all I had within me and when the aria was done, I was so happy, I cried. And then he was there, and all my worries instantly evaporated. _

_I was home._

_I knew that with absolute certainty. I was where I was should be._

_Again, I cried._

_The guilt and shame I felt for abandoning Raoul overwhelmed me. Erik slowly lifted my chin so that I could look out into the crowd. Sitting in the front row was Raoul. He smiled at me. I smiled back. I gazed to his left and could not miss the tiny, beautiful blonde who was holding his hand. Upon__her hand was Raoul's mother's engagement ring.__She was his wife. And he was happy. He looked once more like the boy I had fallen in love with._

_But Gustave . . . where was Gustave!_

_Panicked, I turned to Erik, who smiled and nodded in the direction of the wings, where I saw my Gustave. He looked so happy, so content that I thought perhaps we would all be better off if–_

"WAKE UP!"

I was jarred awake by an extremely intoxicated, Raoul.

"Christine, I said GET UP!"

"Raoul, what – what time is it?"

"Time? Who cares about the time when there is a city like this!"

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up. "Well, I suppose that you are enjoying New York after all then." I was not sure how he had gotten in; the door had locked on his way out, but then I spied the unusual key peaking from his pocket. He must have grabbed it when leaving and I had not noticed.

"Enjoying it! Why, my dear wife – I should say that I am!" He laughed drunkenly, fell into the chair beside me and laughed again. "_The Big Apple_ is not all that bad!" Another drunken cackle followed. "How about you, Christine, are you enjoying New York?"

I did not reply as I got up from the couch and began to walk in the direction of my room. I truly wanted nothing to do with him when he was like this.

He moved to my side far faster than he should have been able to**,** with the amount of alcohol, I had no doubt, he had consumed. "I was talking to you. The least you can do is answer me before you run off!"

If he had not had such a strong hold upon my arm, I would have ignored him and made my way to my room. But as it were**,**I had far too many worries on my mind, and I was not looking to add to them by fighting with Raoul.

Sighing, quietly, for fear that he would hear, which would surely cause a fight, I spoke tiredly. "I have been asleep, and have not gone anywhere – you know that." I knew the moment the last was out, it was a mistake.

"Do not get cross with me, Christine! How the hell would I know that you did not go out after I'd left? How would I know about anything you do!" He bellowed.

"Be quite or you shall wake Gustave and Bridget!" I hissed, angrily snatching my arm from his grasp; his strong fingers left red marks upon my pale flesh. "Raoul, you are drunk, and I am tired. I'm going to bed." I turned and walked away.

"Yes, go ahead!" He yelled after me, his words slurring into one another. "Run away, Christine – it's what you are best at!"

I closed the door to my room, and locked it behind me. It proved to be unnecessary, for he did not come looking for me, and when I crept out, some twenty minutes later, he was fast asleep on the couch. After going to his room, pulling the blanket from his bed, throwing it over him as he lay on the sofa, I went to my room and climbed back into bed, where I could not silence my mind a moment longer.

What was wrong with us? All of us? How had we all ended up in this farce of a life? Why was I still so frightened, Raoul unwavering, and Erik,wanting what he cannot have? Were we destined to play out this torturous opera until our deaths?

The next morning at breakfast, while smiling at Gustave across the table and trying to avoid a very hung over**, **Raoul, I still could not quell the voice in the back of my mind that whispered perhaps we were all better off apart – maybe _my_ life, Raoul's, Erik's and Gustave's had gotten off track and now was the chance to right that wrong.

"Can I please, for the love of Christ, get some more coffee Bridget?" Raoul huffed, exasperated.

"Of course, sir." Poor Bridget, she might as well have been family with the way Raoul took his frustrations out on her, as easily as he did with Gustave and I.

"Mother,when can we find Mr. Whye so we can see the park?"

The forkful of scrambled eggs, I had all but placed in my mouth, fell to my plate in a loud clatter. With all that had happened, I had not taken into account Gustave innocently speaking of Erik's visit.

"Christine, please – the noise!" He cried, then turning to Gustave he interrogated, "And what do you mean can you go see the park with Mr. Whye?" He sat forward, looking from Gustave to me. "Christine, what in the devil is he speaking about!"

"While you were out last night, Mr. Whye stopped by to welcome us."

_Please_ _dear, God do not let Gustave speak of the mask!_

He narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said that you didn't do anything after I left last night?"

"No. I said that I had not gone out." I corrected. "After you left, he stopped by the suite – like I said."

"Well, he's lucky that I was not here. I would have let him have a very large piece of my mind, I'll tell you that."

"He was very nice, Father. I liked him." Gustave offered with a winning smile.

"Yes, all this coming from a ten year old."He paused a moment. "He's taking Gustave on a tour of the park?"

"Yes," I replied, trying not to choke on the words. "He offered, and I thought, who better to show him around than the creator?" My mouth was dry, my heart hammering. I needed to bring the subject of Mr. Whye to a close before Gustave could say anything else.

"It's the least that he could do after sending those freaks to receive us." He mumbled, as he sipped on his coffee and placed the warm compress Bridget had just given him upon his head.

"Gustave, how would you like to see the ocean with me?" I needed to get away for a while.

"Oh, yes Mother! I'd like that very much!"

"Will you join us?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"No. My head is an aching mess. When I can get the pounding to cease, I'm going to see a fellow I met last night. A Mr. Cromlin – Cromson – something like that, anyway, I said that I would meet him to discuss some possible business."

Business my ass.

"That's fine. I suppose we'll see you tonight, then."

I rose from the table.

"Do you want me to come along, Madame?"

"Thank you, Bridget, but no. Please feel free to look around the city after Mr. de Chagny's finished his breakfast, though." I smiled. I did not want her to feel like a prisoner in the hotel, especially since her discomfort of the place had not yet eased.

She was a bit crestfallen, but smiled anyway. "Very well, Madame. I hope you enjoy your day."

"Yes**.**" Raoul voiced from beneath the cloth pressed to his face. "I hope the two of you have a marvelous time. I shall – as soon as this blasted headache leaves me." Throwing the towel from his face and onto the table, he turned to Bridget. "Another one, please." The last I saw was Bridget running off to fetch a warm towel for Raoul.

We made our way to the library and Gustave, with glee, followed the instructions Kerie had given us the night before. No sooner had the door opened, than Gustave was grabbing me by the arm, and pulling me towards the circular stairwell. "Mother, come on!"

Once behind the wall, Gustave tugged upon the only unlit torch, and we watched as the wall closed before us.

"Darling, before we go, I want to talk to you for moment." I knew that he wanted to run down the stairs straight away, but I needed to warn him of speaking about Erik in front of Raoul.

"What is it, Mother?" His face suddenly filled with concern.

"Well, you see – Mr. Whye and I have known each other for a very long time, and your father does not like him, and has no idea that Mr. Whye – _Erik_ – is the same person that has summoned us here. He would be extremely unhappy if he were to find out who Mr. Whye really is. I do not wish to see him so. Gustave, I would appreciate it if you would not mention Mr. Whye and his . . . _oddities_, to your father until I say to, all right?"

"How long have you known him, Mother?" He was not puzzled nor suspicious, he was curious.

"Since I was a little girl – he is the man who taught me to sing."

His eyes lit. "He is! Mother he must be a very talented teacher if you sing as well as you do."

I smiled. "Thank you, my love. But, Gustave – do I have your word not to say anything to your father?" I hated making him do this, but I had no other option; I could not tell Raoul.

"Of course you do, Mother. I won't say a thing." He smiled.

"All right then, ready to see the ocean?" I grinned happily. I loved spending time with him.

"Yes!"

"So what are you waiting for?" I laughed. That was all I had to say.

"How will we know when we've reached the first floor?" Gustave asked, already springing happily down the steps.

No more than fifteen steps down, we came upon the first landing. A silver door marked: **Floor 18**, greeted us.

"I suppose that is how we shall find our floor. We have quite a way to go."

"Race you!" And Gustave was off.

We were laughing as we burst through the silver door that opened into the lobby. People were walking about, as I took in the circular shaped room. All around us were black glittering doors, exactly like the one we had just come through. There were thirty six doors in total.

But how could that be? Didn't Kerie tell us yesterday that each suite had its own private stairway, exit? It didn't make sense. There were dozens of doors on our floor alone, each opening to a suite, I had assumed.

"Mrs. De Chagny!" Kerie sang, walking towards us in an emerald evening gown adorning the right side, and a white pants suit covering the other. "I see you've found your way – with ease I hope? Mr. Whye has made it quite clear that you and your family are to be treated like royalty."

"Oh, yes Kerie, we found our way perfectly. However, I could not help but notice that there are thirty six doors. There cannot be only thirty six suites in the entire hotel?"

"Ah, but there is." He smiled. "Two suites per floor. Mr. Whye occupies floors, nineteen, twenty and twenty one. They are his private living space and are off limits to guests."

Now that I had thought about it – our suite was far too large. All the doors we had passed walking to our suite must have been false, just for show; it was yet another illusion of Hotel Phantasma.

"How can he make any profit with so few suites?"

Kerie smiled widely. "Our suites are highly sought after, Mrs. De Chagny, the most wanted in all of Coney – some say New York. Mr. Whye charges top dollar for them. The hotel makes a superb profit – Mr. Whye is nothing if not clever with business."

"I think it's a wonderful idea." Gustave chimed. "I can definitely see why people would pay top dollar to stay in such a fantastic place!"

"And so they do, young Comte!" laughed Kerie,and turned all attention back on me. "Mr. Whye would like to see you now."

"Now?" My mouth went instantly dry. Erik said that he was going to come to me, not I to him,

"Yes."

"But what of my son?"

"That's not a problem, Mr. Whye has instructed me to show the young Comte Hotel Phantasma – there is much for him to see."

"Well, I–"

"Oh, Mother, please let me go! I so want to see the rest of the hotel!" It appeared the ocean was forgotten.

"But what of seeing the ocean together?"

"I want to see the ocean, Mother, but may I please see the rest of the hotel first?"

I hated leaving him in the care of anyone other than myself, but I knew that Erik and I must speak – something that could not be done in front of him.

"All right, darling – you may go."

Embracing me tightly, he exclaimed, "Thank you!"

Pulling him away from me I said, "Please be careful, Gustave. And do not, under any circumstance, wander away from Kerie. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Good boy." I loved him more than I thought I was ever capable of loving anything.

"Come along with me young Comte." Kerie took him by the hand. "Now, Mrs. De Chagny – if you take the corridor labeled _Africa_, which you will find through the hall to your left, to its end, you will find a tiger. You must pet it, and the door to Mr. Whye's domain will appear. Everything here is an illusion of some kind, doors are just not simply found here in Hotel Phantasma." Kerie grinned.

"It's amazing!" Gustave exclaimed. He seemed to love every single thing about the place; his cherub's face was aglow with excitement.

"That it is." Kerie smiled. "I'll be sure to return the boy to you after your time with Mr. Whye."

"Thank you, Kerie." I turned to Gustave. "Have fun, my love."

"I will!" He beamed.

"Now," began Kerie, "what would the young Comte like to see first? Italy, Spain, Egypt, Mongolia. . . ." Kerie was still voicing choices when the sound finally faded as I entered the first hall.

It was fairly short; I could make out its end and the two passageways there. The entire space was stark white. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, the table I passed, with a white rose in a vase – it was all _white_. It gave me a strange feeling of being off balance. I made it through quickly, and came upon two corridors. One labeled _Africa_, the other _Iceland_.

I stood dumbfounded.

Before me, in perfect replication, was an African jungle and an Icelandic wasteland, all ensconced within two long corridors. How he had accomplished such a feat, I could not even begin to fathom. I could actually feel the cold streaming from one and heat from the other. I was quite glad I did not have to enter the _Iceland_ hall, yet the African one, did not seem a great deal better. I took in a deep breath, shook my head at Erik's ingenious talents, and entered _Africa_.

I made my way through the thick brush, the leaves and vines getting caught on my rose colored dress. I tripped once, fell and landed in dry, cracked dirt – real dirt, for I had to wipe the back of my dress when I stood. I was taken completely back by my surroundings. It all seemed so real. I knew that it was not, but it was a perfect illusion. I emerged from the green brush into a tawny, dry open space. Hunched over in the tall grass, was a lion. It was so real, it stole my breath. I walked past it – slowly.

Yet, what I found most amazing was the heat. It had been cool and comfortable before I had entered, but not any longer. The heat was so powerful, if it felt as though the sun its self were radiating her warmth upon me. I wished there was a way for me to shed some layers, but there was none. I was stuck to endure the scorching heat.

Finally,I saw it. Sitting in the brush covered trail, blocking my path, was the tiger Kerie had told me of. I knew that in order to move any further I was going to have to pet it. It was unsettling. The thing seemed too real; its eyes moved as I moved, following me – watching me. Its chest rose and fell with each breath, and I was having a hard time believing the thing wasn't real. The idea of having to get close enough to caress it was not welcome. No one in their right mind would want to touch it. But carefully, I walked towards it; it emitted a low, warning growl as I approached – its eyes never leaving me. I kept telling myself not to be ridiculous, that it wasn't real, and in doing that, I made my way to stand beside it. I lifted my hand and placed it upon its head, and began to pet.

Its fur was soft as velvet, and as I stroked its head, it purred under my touch. Behind it, where it had appeared that the trail continued, was a wall. The camouflaged door slid open, revealing a set of gold and pearl steps which led up. They went far up. As I thought that, moving for the beautiful stairs, the floor beneath me gave way and I began to fall. I fell for what seemed floors, down a metal tube, a slide, and plopped onto a black marble floor when I came to its end.

And then I heard it.

Music so sweet, so achingly beautiful that it could only come from one source.

Standing, I observed the space around me. It was brightly lit. Electric lights hung above the burgundy covered walls, and though the room was highly illuminated, the combination of the ebony marble floor and red walls, gave the atmosphere a personal, intimate feel.

There was no hesitation in me as I walked towards the source of the music that called to me.

Across the massive oval room, I saw him. He sat at a magnificent glass piano. It was beyond imagination. A rainbow of colors played throughout the glass structure. Each note created its own, distinct and unique color. The music, the colors . . . they beckoned me forward. I was beside him, my hand rested on the white linen of his shirt; the muscles beneath the fabric flexed at my touch. And just as I believed the melody could not get any sweeter, that the light show around me could not be any more exquisite than it already was, the colors turned dark, the melody sad, wistful. It tore at my heart, my soul, because I realized what the melody symbolized.

_Him_.

It was an audible account of the highs and lows of his life. He finished on a high-note, quite literally, his fingers pressed on the last ivory key; the sound**, **a soft whisper of hope.

Without a word, he turned on the seat to face me. I looked at him – really took him in and studied his face. I scanned over the white mask that had so fascinated me as a youth, and concentrated on the slight lines and creases that dotted the exposed side of his face. His high cheek bones, amber eyes, and full lips were still as appealing as when I had first seen him.

Whenever in his presence, I felt as though an invisible electric current poured from him to me, this time was no exception. I was alive with it.

Though I was standing, I was only slightly higher than him as he sat, and the longer the silence dragged on the more potent the current became. I watched**,** fascinated**, **when his eyes brightened with intensity as I moved closer and stood in the space between his long legs. The amber in his eyes slowly began to turn gold. I touched his face with the tips of my fingers; I was so captivated by those eyes. They were so very much like my child's – our child's. They betrayed his emotions, as easily as they did his son's.

"Have they always looked like this?" I asked, still caressing the soft skin beneath his eye.

"So unusual in color?" He cleared his throat, thick with emotion. "Unfortunately they are but another oddity belonging solely to me." He said bitterly, and stood as I dropped my hand from his face. I backed away. That powerful current had lost its strength, and was now but a light hum. My interest in his eyes had broken the spell.

"I did not mean you to upset you, Erik. I was only curious." It was the truth; I wanted to know because his son possessed the same trait.

"Forget it.' He walked away, turned his back to me and rifled through papers that sat on an emerald-like glass desk. Every item of furniture within the room was made of some kind of glass, glass of all different colors. It was like existing within someone's dream. It was beautiful.

The silence that festered in the charged air was palpable.

"Well, I can see that you remain as moody as ever, that certainly has not changed." I was irritated. _He_ was the one who wanted me to come to him, and now he was ignoring me.

He sighed heavily, his shoulders flexing as he did so. He turned to me. "I am sorry, but I do not enjoy when anyone – _anyone_ –" he stressed. "points out my rarities. Even you."

"You wanted to see me?" I was annoyed. There should be nothing he could not speak to me about.

He smirked, enjoying my vexation. "Yes, I did, didn't I?"

When he said nothing further, just stood there and grinned, taking me in from head to toe, I turned on my heel, but before I could take a step, I was in his arms.

"Not planning on going anywhere, I hope? You would have quite a time trying to find your way back."

"Please tell me what it is that you want. I do not wish to play games with you. "

"Not even one?" His eyes glittered shamelessly.

My look was answer enough.

"All right," he laughed,"I had never seen him like this. His arms held me tight against his body; the electrical current growing stronger with each beat of my heart. "I shall tell you why I have brought you here." Lightly, he brushed a stray strand of hair softly back into place behind my ear. I shivered.

"I want you, Christine. I am asking that you stay with me. But it must be because you want to. I will never again force you to do anything you do not want."

"How can you expect me to leave my life – my family?" I said it, but I was hoping that maybe he would come up with an answer, even though I knew there was none.

"No!" He quickly amended, releasing me. "I would never expect you to leave the boy;I do not believe his father is competent enough to care for him."

So he knew what Raoul had become.

"It is not so simple, Erik. Things can never go back to the way they were, too much has altered." It was true. Things could not go back to what they were, but there was nothing that could ever change my love for him.

"I do not want things ever to revert to what they once were. All that I wish is to have you near again. I have accomplished so much, and yet . . . it is all pointless to me without you."

He came to me, placing his hand over my heart. "Feel that?" He asked, his eyes burning into mine. My heart hammered under my hand. "It is your heart, and it is alive." Taking my hand, he placed it upon his rapidly beating heart. "Feel that? It is only alive when you are near." He slowly ran his fingers along the tender flesh of my thigh, and everything began to get hazy. I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself, when I felt the softness of his lips upon my neck. I knew I had no choice but to give in. He pulled his lips away and ran his hand from my neck to my breast; there he stopped. It was exactly where the scare I loathed, resided.

He knew about that, too.

"How have you remained with him so long?" He was hurt and puzzled by that; the amber in his eyes darkened with woe.

"You left. You made it clear that I was not wanted. The opera, Madame Giry, Meg – they were all gone. I had no one else to turn to. And I did love him,**, **Erik – I mean I do! I do love him!" Or course I loved him. I was just no longer _in love_ with him. "What should I have done, Erik? We both know I cannot do much but sing."

"How could you have a child with him so–" I did not let him finish.

It was my chance to tell him who Gustave's father really was, yet . . . I could not utter a word of truth. Instead, I lashed back at him. "How could I what, live? Was I supposed to fall down and die when you left? I may not have had the most idyllic marriage, or life, but I am still living – I have not died without you!"

"I never expected you would fall down and die, as you so dramatically put it," he laughed when I scowled. "But I also never wanted you to settle, either."

"You did not leave me much of a choice, now did you?" I could not help the venom in my tone; part of me still hated him for leaving me – even though I had suspicions all along that he had done it because of me – _for_ me – all the same, he still left. Now we were all in such a mess, and he wanted me – wanted me to throw away the life I had built, for something new, something I had wanted from the start, a life with him. But it was not so easy. There were lives at stake, and people who would be hurt.

"No, I suppose I did not, did I?" He answered sadly.

"I had no one else, Erik – no one. I know how that sounds, but it is true. Though I love him . . . no matter what I do – I cannot help but love you more."

His glittery yellow eyes and the burning within, said it all. Before I could speak further, his lips were again upon mine. I could not think, could not feel – anything but the erotic current that was growing between us.

"Christine," he breathed, as his mouth left mine, only to join it again a moment later.

I was swirling.

I was exactly where I wanted to be; lost in the bliss of his lips upon mine. So powerful was the energy pulsating from his body to mine, that for a brief moment, I almost forgot about my family. Almost.

"No, Erik – please, please wait a moment." But his insistent lips refused to leave mine. "We cannot do this!" I pulled my wanting lips from his, and took in as much air as I could to help clear the fog of my need. He let me go; I put my hands on my head and tried to gather my thoughts so I could speak.

"Do not deny what you feel for me, Christine!" He said passionately. "I know what it is to be a slave to love. I feel all that you do, and more."

"I have tried to deny it." I confessed. "Ten years**, **I have tried to conceal the love I feel for you . . . but it never fades." Tears clouded my vision. "The need for you . . . it never leaves me."

Immediately he was upon me, his comforting arms enfolding me.

I loved him so much.

_God . . . What am I going to do?_

As if reading my thoughts, he implored, "Stay with me, Christine. Leave him, take the child and be mine once again."

"Erik . . . I have always been yours."

A sound, guttural, animalistic, emanated from him as he again took my mouth in his; I never wanted the moment to end. I was home again.

Home. . . .

Gustave. . . .

Raoul. . . .

"Erik, we cannot do this – we cannot!" I cried as I extracted my lips from his. "I will sing for you, but I cannot abandon him – no matter how far he has sunk, I cannot give up on him. God help me, I may not love him as I do you, but I do still love him."

"You cannot possibly believe you owe your life to him!" The glittering gold was beginning to shadow to a molten amber – he was heated.

"But I do! Do you not see? If it were not for him . . . I do not know what would have become of me. And to spite all his faults, most of the cause is due to me. You see, you have never left my heart, and I am afraid that when Gustave came**, **that there was hardly any left for him. And yet, he tried for a very long time to get me to love him as I once did, but I could not. You are all that I have ever wanted." I stopped a moment, looking into his beautiful eyes, and I smiled sadly. "Finally, he gave up and has become what you see now. The last five years**, **our whole lives have gone downhill and I have done nothing to stop it."

"His behavior is not your fault, Christine. No matter what, there is no excuse for what he has become."

"Love does strange things to us all. You of all people should know that."

His masterful hands lightly caressed my neck, and my blood boiled.

"Stay with me," he pled again, his breath warm upon my ear. "Allow me to give you the life that should have been yours. I realize that I may not be the ideal role model for the child, but I promise to always be there for him – for you. I would die before I would ever let any harm come to you. Unlike him." His eyes lingered on the spot where the scare resided.

"Raoul is not fully to blame for that, Erik. He has been hurting, and alone – he has turned to activities that are unsavory to ease his pain. I have not been able to help him, because I have been unable to help myself."

"Then let me help you, Christine." Backing up and taking both my hands in his, he said fervently, "Let me show you Phantasma. When you see the good that I have accomplished, you will see the life I have to offer you. Do this for me before you flee – do not say no; my heart could not bear it." The sincerity in his beseeching eyes overwhelmed me. If I denied him, it would kill him, and then my heart, my soul, would not be long to follow.

"All right, Erik. Show me your world."

***Author's Note:**

**I know that I'm leaving you guys on another cliffy, but I already have some of the next chapter written, so I'm hoping that it won't take me forever to get it to you. I'm really trying to make this as good as I possibly can, and I really hope you're all enjoying where the way this has been going. I love you guys and thank you so much for all the positive reviews – the reviews are what keep this procrastinator writing, as I've said before, LOL. Thank you. Thank you. THANK YOU!**

**And to my beta Grayskies 29 – I couldn't have found a better beta. You help make the story what it is, and I thank you, R ;)**

**-Shannon***


	10. Christine: Impasse Part Two

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Christine:**__"Impasse" (Part Two)_

To say that Phantasma was a world of amazement did little justice to the astounding park

I was quite literally awed with wonder.

The rides, attractions, games, people, atmosphere, it was unparalleled to anything I had ever imagined.

With a wide smile I admitted, "This is amazing, Erik. No, it is astonishing." We hovered over the magnificent park in a car made of glass that traveled along a thick metal wire from one end of the park to the other – Erik called it a Skyline. It was calming and interesting to sit safely in the clear orb and observe those below. I had never seen so many different people; different in size, shape, color and class. The park was a melting pot, and as I took it all in, Erik held my hand in his.

"Thank you." He smiled, seeming humble for the first time. "It is but a tenth of what I have planned for Phantasma. Do you truly like it?" Concern creased his brow.

"Erik, I love it! It is a place of wonder and dreams**,** in a world of reality and disappointment. It is extraordinary." I meant every word. The attraction he had shown me was unlike anything I could have ever dreamt of. We had been out all morning and most of the afternoon enjoying the park, and yet I could have easily remained there for the rest of the day.

"Some say so, but what I see in my mind makes this look childish." Erik confided. "Everything you see below is there because of you, Christine and your love; it helped create it all. I want you to know that."

I flushed, eased my hand from his, and moved as far from him as the tight space allowed. Being near him when he spoke like that was highly dangerous.

"All of this is incredible, and I am so proud of what you have accomplished, but. . . ."

I had no idea what to say. I knew what I should do, what I _wanted_ to do, but my heart still went out to Raoul. If I left, he would have no one, and I would have no hope of ever beginning a new life free of guilt.

"But what, Christine?" He countered in anger. "How can you deny that this is where you belong?"

"I–"

"No!" He shouted, shaking his head. "Do not lie to yourself – to _me_!"

"Erik, I cannot do this, my heart cannot bear it!" I sobbed**;****, **wretched tears filling my eyes. "I love you so much, but if I leave him . . . it will kill him. Yet, if I do not stay, it will be your death as well. And in turn, if either of you were to perish, it would take me as well."

He pulled me to him. Wiping my tears with an embroidered handkerchief**, **he lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. "I am afraid that you are at an impasse, my love – one which you must remedy by tomorrow. That is all the time you have. I will not be without you any longer, Christine. Now that I have you back, and I know how it feels to hold you again, I cannot let you go. I do not want to force you to do anything, but that is all the time you have. If you sing, that means you will stay. If you do not, then you will leave." He took my face in his hands; his lips so close, I could taste his sweet breath.

I wanted to sing. I did not want to leave.

But Raoul. . . .

And Gustave.

I had to think of what was best for Gustave. But what _was_ best for him? What was truly good for my son . . . Erik's son?

Raoul loved the child, of that I had no doubt, but he also seemed to resent him. Then again, he resented me, as well – the entire world, in fact. Why should Gustave be any different? But I knew, somewhere deep within me, for Gustave, it would be better if Raoul and I were apart. In every scenario, Raoul must lose, in order for us to win, and yet I could not accept that reality. I simply could not. Why could we not all win?

"He is not worthy of you, Christine. He is not what you need, and you know that."

He was right.

I needed him, all of him, and without another thought, I took his lips in mineand once again, I was home.

I was trapped. No matter what I would do**,** someone was going to get hurt.

"Do you understand, Christine? I am not trying to be difficult, but you must make your choice by tomorrow. This circle of madness has to end."

"I do not know what you want from me, Erik. I love you, you know that, but I do not want to hurt him. How am I supposed to make such a decision?" My eyes burned, as dreadful tears clouded my vision.

"Stay. Sing for me. Do not run away with my heart again; it has been too long since it has been mine."

"Oh, Erik," I sighed as I pulled him close and rested my head upon his sturdy shoulder; gently he stroked my hair. "We are all in such a mess, aren't we?" I laughed bitterly.

"Sometimes fate is cruel, love. Yet I cannot fault her for causing pain; not when she has given us this. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be granted a second chance."

_God, he's right._

This was our last opportunity. If I left him now, it would seal our fate, and the thought of never seeing him again tore at me. But the thought of never seeing Raoul, tore at me as well.

I pulled back from him, wiped the remaining tears from my eyes, as the car we sat in came to a stop. "I have things I must think about."

"Yes, my love, you do."

"I should be heading back. I am sure Gustave and Kerie have finished their tour by now."

Smiling, he said, "I would not be so sure. You have seen but a fraction of the wonders in Hotel Phantasma. They could be gone for hours." Then he smirked. "We've forgotten lunch. Would you like some?"

"Lunch?"

He laughed. "Yes."

"With you?" The idea of someone like him requiring such a mundane, ordinary thing as lunch, threw me; he was human after all.

"Yes. I know it is rather late, but there is a place that you must try before you go. I would very much like to take you. I'm quite sure Kerie took the boy to _Illusion_, our restaurant in the hotel, already."

Lunch with Erik.

"All right."

He smiled, blatantly pleased. "Follow me."

He offered me his hand, and we stepped from the car onto a wooden landing with a winding staircase leading down, back into the throngs of people populating the park below.

As we moved towards the stairs, Erik smirked. "Do you wish to take the stairs or the Phantasma way?" His eyes glinted with amusement.

"You decide."

He moved to the side of the stairs, and right there, hidden, camouflaged in plain sight, was an elevator. It appeared to be a wooden wall; the natural grain and knots of the wood seemed to have no joints, no place where they had been cut to allow for a door, and yet, I watched as Erik walked to a dark brown knot, pressed in on it, and a door opened, revealing the interior of a normal looking elevator.

"Shall we?" He asked, sweeping his hand in the direction of the wooden contraption.

I stepped inside and watched as the door closed. Within moments we were below, being released into the massive crowds. We exited the park grounds through a massive wrought iron gate where the word _Phantasma_ hung above. The streets outside the park were nearly as full as the park its self. The amount of people swarming past did not seem to bother Erik at all.

"It no longer troubles you to be around people?" I could not help but ask. He was, after all, comfortable lurking in the bowels of the opera – the exact opposite of social.

He smiled. "I have had ten years to grow accustomed to being in public. And before, when I was at the opera, there were still times I occasionally went out into the world. But here, I walk among them as though I were one of them, it's amazing!"

"You are one of them, Erik." He turned and smiled. "However, didn't Kerie tell Raoul that _Mr. Whye _does not see anyone?"

"Ah, but Kerie was instructed to tell your dear husband, exactly that. I had no doubt that once he had glimpsed the park, the people, the hotel, he would have words that he would wish to exchange with Mr. Whye." Again he laughed.

"Why did you pick that name?" I was curious. I had wondered for years what his true surname was, and something told me that _Whye_ was not it.

The late afternoon sun was shimmering as the crisp, pungent, salt-filled air took up all the space in my lungs. Erik and I walked down the streets of Coney like everyone else. I reveled in the feel of normalcy.

"I chose Whye, because one: using my real surname was out of the question. And two: I did not know who I was or why it was that I had been given life. Until you." He was silent a moment as we walked. "My entire life I have wondered what possible purpose I could have, what role I was destined to play, and now I know, and no longer do I question why. I was born to love you."

I had to swallow back the lump that lodged in my throat. I could never have anticipated anyone telling me that I was the reason for their existence. The power of that left me speechless.

Stopping short before a white building, Erik saved me from answering by announcing, "Here we are – the finest cuisine in all of Coney."

"Nathan's?" Apparently they served something called a _hotdog_.

"Do not be to be too hasty in judgment before you sample it." He grinned, taking my hand and leading me into the small establishment.

"I've never eaten a hotdog before. What is it?" I took in the people around me gobbling what looked to be a tube of meat on a bun.

Laughing, he led us past the long line of people waiting to buy hotdogs. "It is better if you try it first. I'll order for us, all right?"

"Yes, please. I have no idea what to select." I laughed awkwardly. For some reason the idea of sitting down to eat with him, made menervous.

As we approached the counter, the person who had just been given his order, left and as the next man in line moved forward, Erik made for the counter. The man stepped back, allowing Erik and I to go ahead of him.

"Erik!" The portly man who was cooking and serving greeted with a smile.

"Nathan," Erik smiled back, shaking the man's hand. "How have you been? How is your wife?"

"She is doing marvelously, Erik – thanks to you and the physician you sent to aid us. Truly, I have no words or goods, great enough to thank you with." The sturdy looking man had tears of gratitude in his eyes.

"No, do not thank me, Nathan. She needed the care, I simply provided that. I am pleased that she is doing well; that is thanks enough."

Erik had clearly paid his physician to care for the man's wife and knowing that information, filled my heart with love. He had changed.

Or had he?

Perhaps he had always been so, but had never been given the chance to show it. I suddenly knew there was a vast amount that I did not know about him.

"All the same, Erik," said Nathan with a thick Polish accent, "thank you for all that you have done." He smiled again, and then gestured towards me. "All the times I have seen you and this is the first time that I have ever seen a woman on your arm. And may I say what a beauty she is."

"Christine, this is Nathan." Erik introduced. "And yes, she is quite exquisite, thank you."

"Hello. It's nice to meet you."

He smiled back. "It is my pleasure, miss. Any friend of Erik's is a friend of mine. Now you just tell me, what can I get for you?"

I turned to Erik. "I believe you were going to order?"

He grinned. "She has never sampled one before and so we would like two hotdogs with," he paused and looked at me as though gauging something, then went on, "two hotdogs with mustard and sauerkraut, Nathan."

"Very good. I'll have it ready for you in a moment." He smiled, and began assembling our lunch.

I looked around the tiny establishment and noticed all the stools had been taken. "Where shall we sit?"

"We won't."

"What do you mean? How are we supposed to eat?" Surely he was joking.

"We'll walk along the boardwalk as we enjoy our lunch. One of the reasons I love Nathan's hotdogs is the ease in which you can eat them. Most who order do not eat here. This is a beach community, my love and quite different than Paris. People want to bask in the sun, swim in the ocean, see the sights, and so most like to dine as they walk. This city – this country, as a matter of face, is constantly on the move. Here, time is money."

"Oh." There certainly was a difference between Paris and Coney, and I was beginning fall in love with the small island filled with wonder and freedom.

"Here we are," Nathan said as he handed the hotdogs – strange name, I thought – to Erik.

"Thank you, Nathan." Erik went to pay him, but Nathan refused his money.

"Please, your money is no good in here, Erik. Now go!" He waved us off. "Enjoy, miss! It was a pleasure, and I do hope you like Coney, it would be nice to see you with Erik again!"

"Thank you, Nathan. It was nice to meet you, as well, and so far I am highly enjoying your charming little island." I smiled, then turned to Erik and grinned. I could picture myself living there, I really could.

"Good afternoon, Nathan." And with Erik's parting words we were off.

We walked from the building, down the street and made our way onto a boardwalk that overlooked the beach, the island, the ocean. It was beautiful and packed with people who seemed to be doing the same thing as Erik and I**;****,**enjoying the day. Erik handed me a hotdog. Then smiling, amused by my puzzled look, demonstrated how it should be eaten.

"Take hold of the bun in your hand, place it all in your mouth, and take a small bite." He did just that and I laughed, seeing the man I had once thought of as otherworldly, eating a hotdog as we walked in the sun. I watched as sauerkraut fell from his lips.

I laughed again.

"Yes," he began to say as he took the napkin wrapped around the hotdog off, and wiped his mouth with it. "They can be a little tricky to eat depending on the topping, but I think you will enjoy the sauerkraut. Now it's your turn. Try it."

I picked it up, inspected it a little, wondering if there was any better possible way in which to go about eating it, decided that there was not, and took a bite.

It was delicious!

"Good, no?" He smiled; the answer already plain upon my face.

"It's delightful, Erik." I spoke quickly as I went for another taste. We walked and ate in comfortable silence; it felt as though we had done so a hundred times before.

After we finished eating, we deposited our soiled napkins in a garbage can upon the boardwalk, and as we moved on further, Erik took my hand in his.

"Did you enjoy yourself today, Christine?"

"Yes, very much."

"Do you perhaps see things a little differently now?" His expression looked as though the future of his soul depended upon my answer.

"I do see you in a different light here, Erik, among these people. I want you to know that I believe everything you have done here is incredible."

"And are you truly enjoying Coney?"

"Oh, yes. I love what little I have seen so far, but. . . ."

"But what?"

"I can see the ocean but I've yet to walk upon its shore and feel its current under my feet."

"Let us remedy that now." He led us to an empty bench, sat down and began removing his shoes and socks.

"Erik, what are you doing!"

"We cannot walk on the beach in our shoes, can we? Especially if you want to feel the current as the tide comes in. Now take your shoes off." He finished removing his socks, until he stood barefoot upon the boardwalk.

I removed my heels and pulled down my stockings. I could not help but notice the pulse in Erik's neck visibly quicken as he watched me.

"All right, done." I said**,** standing beside him.

"Good, shall we?" He took my hand. I had lost count how many that made for the day, but the feel of my hand in hiswould never get old.

Hand in hand,we walked in the sand in that same comfortable silence that we had eaten in. That constant electrical current pleasantly pulsed in calm, peaceful waves. It had been so long since I had seen the ocean. The last time was when I was seven, my father was still alive and my entire world was right. And now there I was, back at the shore, and back too, was that long forgotten feeling of belonging, of _right_. I looked around the tan beach, the sapphire ocean before me and the cloudless aqua skies above; it all beckoned me. I told myself that I only felt that way because I was tired, and because life was stressful. Everything was demanding in Paris, but in Coney, with Erik, I felt free. In such an almost magical place, I was seduced by its beauty and the thought that perhaps things could be different – _better_. I knew I shouldn't be swayed by its attractiveness, the possibilities, but the intention was not a solid one; it evaporated the instant his fingers grazed my face.

We had stopped. "You look sad, my angel, should we not have come?"

"No Erik, I'm glad that we came, but I am also melancholy because I know I must leave."

He took my face in his hands, his brow furrowing as his amber eyes bore into mine. "No, you do not. Today has been to show you, to make you see, you have another choice. We could be happy here, you, the child and I. Please, my love – _my only love_ – let me make you happy."

The wind blew warm and strong as we came upon a secluded section of beach. The urge to say yes, that I wanted to be happy, was stronger than ever before. I was tired of being filled with sorrow. But still . . . I thought of Raoul, of who he once was . . . and I could not let go of the hope that I could help restore him to that person. I needed to make up for the wrongs I had committed in our marriage, and leaving him when he was so desperate, would only add to them.

I sighed, pulled from his hands and walked through the cool surf.

"Why, Christine? Why are you denying it? Why would anyone in their right mind stay with someone like him? Tell me, explain it;I simply cannot understand!"

"I have explained it to you! He was not always this way – you know that!"

"I know nothing about de Chagny, Christine. All I do know about the man is that he did everything within his power to take you from me. That is all I know." He was being stubborn.

"He was not like this at first, Erik. It took a very long time for him to turn so bitter; I was the main cause." He looked at me as though I were mad and was about to speak when I cut him off. "No, Erik, allow me to finish. Just because I am some perfect creature in your eyes, does not mean that I am. I am only human, and very weak. I was never there for him, not as he needed, and I feel it is my responsibility to help him. I swore an oath to God 'in sickness and in health'. He is sick, and I must not abandon him, it would damn my eternal soul."

"I assure you, it would not."

"I must help him."

Running his hands through his black hair, he sighed in frustration. "Help him do what, Christine? I am sorry that you feel responsible for his deterioration, but there is no justifiable reason why you and the child must go down with de Chagny!" He stopped,the deep crease in his brow relaxing as he softly added, "I am sorry the boy will lose his father, I am – but Christine – you have no conception of what having a child in my life would mean to me. I am no longer young, and while I have always known better than to believe I would ever be a father, the thought of being able to show your child the rights of the world, and not the wrongs, for I have made all the mistakes one can make, intrigues me; he will learn from me. I swear that I shall do everything in my power for him – for you."

I cried.

Never could I express the grief in his voice as he spoke of never being a father. It was the perfect opportunity to tell him. What was I waiting for? It was not fair to keep such a thing from him. I never would have done so, but he left and I never thought I would see him again. Raoul thought Gustave was his son, if he found out now, after all these years that he was not, it would kill him. But to not tell Erik . . . He was right before me; all I had to do was open my mouth and say that his wildest dream was in fact a reality. I owed it to him.

"There is something I want to tell you about, Gustave–" I could not finish. I was distracted by a young boy chasing a girl; they ran past us and my mind went with them. I thought of another boy and girl who had run upon the beach long ago, and I wondered if I would ever get him back, the boy Raoul was**, **who I had fallen in love with.

"What did you want to tell me about the child, Christine?"

"That – when you show him around you must always keep your eyes on him; he has a terrible habit of wandering off." I was wretched coward. I just could not tell him. I could not. "Erik, if anything should ever happen to him, I would die."

"You do not have enough faith in me, Christine. I would never allow harm come to your child."

_Your child, too_, I thought fretfully.

He smiled, taking my hand, and again I was aware of that current that flowed between us. "Come, let us return. I would not want your son to worry."

It was my last chance to speak the truth about Gustave before we left the cover of privacy, but I could not.

We were both silent, lost in thought**,**as we made our way back to the hotel. Walking through the front doors, Kerie appeared with Gustave in tow.

"Mr. Whye, Mrs. De Chagny! I hope you had a wonderful day."

"Oh, Mother!" Gustave exclaimed as he hugged me. "It was so amazing! This place is like a dream come true!"

I noticed the smile that instantly curved Erik's lips as he took in Gustave's elated attitude towards his creation.

"Thank you for everything, Kerie. You may take the rest of the night and do with it as you wish."

"It's always my pleasure to help, Mr. Whye. Goodnight." He smiled at each of us, turned and disappeared into the lobby.

"Mr. Whye, sir – thank you for building such an amazing place! If the hotel is so unbelievable, I can't wait to see what the park must be like!"

Erik laughed. "You are quite welcome. However, it is more appropriate that I should thank you for allowing me to borrow your mother for a few hours. And so in thanks, a little later, I will send for you and together we shall see the park, and all that is wild and dark – as you had requested."

As Gustave's tell-tale ring brightened, I blanched. I had assumed Kerie had already taken him through the park, and thus there would be no need for Erik to do it himself; apparently that was not the case.

Gustave thanked Erik once more, then turning to me said, "Mother, I saw Father pass by before, and I'm sure he's upstairs wondering where we've been all day." I felt like such an awful mother; my little cohort in crime was giving me a warning.

"Thank you, darling. Yes, I suppose we should be going now." I threw Erik a look that said I would finish with him later.

"Of course the two of you should go. And Christine, I believe you have some things to think about, do you not?"

"I do."

"Very well. Gustave," I loved hearing the way Gustave's name sounding coming from his lips. "I shall see you later." He smiled and left.

My ears were ringing by the time Gustave and I reached the suite. There hadn't been one moment when he was not describing, in full detail, all he had seen within the hotel.

"Darling, allow me to interrupt you for a moment, if I may?"

"What is it, Mother?" He fell silent instantly.

"I hate asking you to keep things from your father, but I must ask you not to tell him that I was with Mr. Whye today." I was going to go to Hell for being a disgrace as a mother.

"I figured that already, Mother. That's why when Kerie and I saw him in the lobby earlier I didn't call out to him; I knew he would have asked where you were." He seemed pleased with himself for thinking ahead.

There were no words to describe how much I loathed having him lie. "I see." It was all I could say about it. I hated myself. "Now, what were you saying about the dining room, my love?"

"The floor, Mother, I've never seen anything in all my life quite like it!"

"What do you mean?"

"It was a mirror, but the images that it reflected were all distorted. You could never imagine all the different ways the same person can appear in the giant mirror. It's amazing!"

He was still explaining lunch when we came upon Raoul, who had seen better days. I had no idea what he had been up to all day, but his white shirt and black pants were caked in dirt, or sand – or both. And he appeared somewhat sunburned.

"Did you two have a nice day?" His tone said it all; he had not, and having no one else, he would take it out on us.

"Yes, we had a wonderful day, didn't we, my love?"

"We did! Father you would not believe some of the things within the hotel!"

"Oh no? Well, I would believe it! I've spent half the goddamn day lost in a room, only it was no room! It was a desert! Do you two hear me? A goddamn desert, right here, within this monstrosity of a hotel! There was real sand! And pyramids! There were pyramids for God's sake! I believe in illusions but this – what is here, this place – I have no words for it!" He was more putout than I had ever seen him.

"You didn't like it?" Gustave asked in disbelief.

"Like it?" he looked at the child as though he had ten heads. "I loathed it! I missed my meeting with Cromson or Cromlin – whatever his name is – because I was lost for so damn long! I nearly died out there of dehydration, I tell you! How such an abomination can be allowed to exist within a hotel? What kind of madhouse is this place!"

Withholding a smile, I said, "I am sorry you had a bad day, darling." He was taunt,so filled with frustration, with anger, that it permeated the air around him.

Suddenly, in that moment, more than anything, I wanted him to smile. It had been so long since I had last seen him smile. Perhaps if we were all to go out together as a family, it would brighten his mood.

"We should go out. Let's clean up a bit and then we can leave. We can see some of the sights as we look for a place to eat dinner. Please come with us, darling." Already the atmosphere of Coney was rubbing off on me. I wanted back out onto her streets for more.

"Yes, Father! Please come to dinner with us!"

"I don't know. . . ."

"Please, Papa." Gustave's use of his childhood title for Raoul, instantly melted any resolve he had.

"All right."

"Yes!"

"Let us all go clean, change and meet back here when we are done."

We did just that, and looked much better, refreshed.

"All right, if we're going to go, let's go." Raoul grumbled, his mood not yet improved.

"That sounds wonderful." I smiled, determined to stay in good cheer.

"But not to Phantasma! I do not wish to see any more of this hellish place than I have to."

"That's fine. There are many other things we can see, darling."

I was pleasantly surprised that Raoul did not grouse or gripe as we made our way down and out of the hotel. The sun was beginning to set; the sky was a lovely shade of pink. It would be hot tomorrow. I took in a deep breath of salt filled air and smiled. I loved it here.

"Father, isn't it just wonderful?" Gustave asked, his affections for the place seeming to mirror my own. A giant smile suffused his beautiful face.

"Oh, yes. Fantastic." He replied sarcastically.

"Darling," I turned to Gustave. "What would _you_ like to do?"

He thought a moment. "I want to ride that roller coaster Kerie mentioned today!"

"What coaster is that, my love?"

"The Cyclone."

"Then that is where we shall go."

"A roller coaster? Wonderful." Raoul sighed. I yearned for him to let down the wall of rejection he had erected; until he did,I would not be able to help him.

"Darling, it will be fun." He did not seem any more enthused. I moved to his side. "I promise it will be. I wish you would remove that frown and replace it with a smile. You are so very handsome when you smile."

He stopped walking, glanced at me sideways, and miraculously – smiled! For whatever reason, this time my words had gotten through to him.

"I'm sorry that I've been so cross with you lately." I ceased walking as he went on apologizing. "I have not had much patience as of late. Today I'm afraid, was simply my breaking point. I am sorry."

Tears stung my eyes. I loved him so very much in that moment.

"I'm sorry, as well. I have not necessarily been of much help or comfort." I looked to see if Gustave was listening, but he was not. He was already lost looking at the wonders around us.

He kissed me.

Raoul, his cerulean eyes bright, took my lips in his. As he moved his mouth with mine, I could not help but feel a flame ignite between us. In my mind, as his lips caressed mine, he was the boy I had fallen in love with, sweet, tender, affectionate, caring. Lost in that, I was kissing him back, and I did love him. When he was once again the person I had fallen in love with, I could almost say that I was _in_ love with him.

"Lotte," he murmured huskily, returning his lips to mine.

God, when he was that person, the one I had fallen in love with at seven and then again at sixteen, I did not want to leave him. I was a spoiled child who wanted it all. But I could not have it all. I had but one day, and I still could not make myself accept that one of the men I loved was going to be wounded, maybe fatally. I did not want to think about the fact that I would once again crush someone I loved.

"Raoul," I breathed, pulling back as my sudden realization dampened the mood.

"I love you. God, I love you!" And before I could react, he took my mouth in his and kissed me with more passion than ever before.

I began to cry.

"Ew! Mother, Father!" Gustave laughed, embarrassed,saving me from explaining my tears as I quickly and furtively wiped them away.

Raoul pulled his lips from mine, but kept me close. "Pretty soon, son – you'll want to kiss some beautiful young girl, wait and see." He smiled, winked, then kissed me quickly once more.

He was that boy I loved. His whole face had morphed into someone who barely resembled the tense, nasty man from earlier. His blue eyes shone bright and I could not help but wrap my arms around him. I didn't want to let go of him – that boy – I wanted to keep him there with me always.

"Okay! I get the picture! Come on, cut it out!" He laughed as he ran to us and playfully pulled us apart. He positioned himself between us, taking a hand from each and began leading us down the crowded streets of Coney. We had to ask where the coaster was. A stranger was kind enough to tell us where to go.

Raoul and I gazed at each other. The way he smiled, the way his eyes were aglow with happiness, stirred my heart and broke it all at once. I knew that if I gave him enough time and had enough patience with him, he would always be the man I loved. But if I abandoned him – I could not begin to think of what would become of him. . . .

"Look! There it is! We're here!" Gustave exclaimed as we approached the attraction we were in search of.

The Cyclone.

"Wow! Do you see that drop? It's huge!" I could not help but be reminded of Erik as I saw the golden ring glitter with excitement in his eyes.

"Are you sure you want to go on that?"

"Absolutely!"

"That's my boy!" Raoul laughed, patting Gustave good-humoredly on the back. He then wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. "We're all going to ride it, aren't we?" He asked, looking to me.

I smiled, but my stomach tightened. I had thought I would just watch as they rode. Now I had no choice, I had to go. The massive wooden coaster was quite intimidating with its high track and daring turns; it frightened me.

There were stairs leading up to the platform, and no sooner had we begun to ascend them, then we came to a stop. We were at the end of a very long line.

A heavy, bald headed man who had markings on every inch of exposed skin – someone I was convinced to stay away from – smiled politely and said, "Hello."

When was I going to learn not to judge a book by its cover?

"Hello." I smiled in return.

"Yes, hello." Raoul offered in a genuine attempt to be pleasant. I prayed he would remain that person – I could talk to that person, and quite possibly make an impact upon him which would last.

While the line was long, it moved quickly and before long we were sitting in the car, waiting to leave the station. The boys smiled, excited; I was nervous. I swallowed hard as the car jolted to a start and began to roll along the tracks.

As we ascended, my heart hammered. It seemed as though we were headed for the clouds, and just when I thought there would be no end to our clackety climb, we evened off as we passed two flags on other side of the tracks billowing in the wind. We were so extraordinarily high up. My heart began to pound harder. Slowly, so slowly, we approached the edge of the first and highest drop. As we dipped over the edge and plummeted down, my stomach sprung into my throat. The wind, the sheer force of our fall, was staggering. When it seemed we would surely crash into the ground, we were again soaring up and over the tracks. And so it went. Again and again, up and down, side to side, and all the while . . . we laughed.

It was a memory I would keep with me always.

"That was so much fun!" Gustave cried as we rolled to a stop, left the car and watched as new passengers took our place.

We all agreed.

It was fun.

As we made our way back to the hotel, deciding to eat there – Gustave could not keep quiet about the mirrored floor – Raoul was in the best spirits I had seen him in for years.

A higher power however, decided to put an end to our happiness.

I brushed shoulders with a tall blonde, who huffed and puffed as though I had sought her out deliberately. "Watch where you're walking, will you!" She turned and as she took in Raoul, Gustave and most of all, me, the color drained from her tan face. "My God."

"Do I know you?" Something about the offensive blonde seemed familiar.

"No, it couldn't possibly be." She muttered, backing away.

"My God, Meg is that you?" I asked, even though I already knew that the tantalizing woman before me was her.

It was really her! The best friend I had ever had and I had nearly passed her by.

"Christine, what are you doing here?" She gawked. It was not the reaction I thought I would have gotten.

"Meg, I hardly recognized you!" I was so happy to see her.

"Mother, who is that?" Gustave was at my side, smiling at Meg. I looked for Raoul. He stayed back, keeping his distance, and looked as though he had seen a ghost.

"Darling, this is my friend, Meg. I've told you about her before. She is the beautiful dancer who was my closest friend as a child, remember?"

"Yes, I do." He smiled. "Hello."

"What are you doing here?" She repeated, ignoring him. She was anxious, angry, upset; every thing but happy to see me.

It hurt.

"I – we – came here on business." I stammered. I was suddenly very curious whether or not she knew of Erik's presence in Coney.

"What kind of business?" She asked guardedly.

"I am to sing in Phantasma's closing show."

"Sing?" She cawed back, her voice shrill and grating. She seemed like someone I had never known.

"Yes, an aria."

"But you can't be here to sing!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm singing! I'm the star of the show, for God's sake and I know nothing about this!" I guess I knew the answer to her having any knowledge of Erik. "How can you be singing?" She stomped her foot down in frustration like a child.

"Meg, dear – I only have one little aria." I couldn't understand her displeasure, but she was clearly upset and the mother within me wanted to comfort her. "It has been so long since I have last performed. You will no doubt out-shine me."

"I still do not understand." She was exasperated. "Who asked you to perform?"

"A Mr. Whye, and a '_hello_'**, **Ms. Giry, would be quite appreciated." Raoul had at last stepped forward to stand beside me.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just rather stunned to see you; that is all." She collected herself and smiled. "Who is this?" She asked**, **batting her false eyelashes at my child.

"Meg, I'd like you to meet, Gustave. My son." Now it was my turn to smile widely; I was so proud of him.

"Gustave? Wasn't that your father's name?" She asked me.

I nodded my head.

"Well, I adore it! Gustave, I'm Meg and it is very nice to meet you." She offered her hand for him to shake, which he did.

"Hello. It's very nice to meet you, as well," replied my little gentleman.

Looking between Raoul and myself, she smiled in apology. "Really, Christine, I am very sorry I was not more welcoming, but seeing you out of nowhere, after all this time . . . it was shocking."

"It's all right, Meg, let us forget it. How have you been? After the opera had burned, I never saw Meg or her mother again. They had disappeared and I had not heard from my either since.

"Oh, I've been so wonderful, so has mother! Her decision to come here was genius."

"Your mother is here, as well?" Raoul asked, as his blonde brow rose in suspicion.

"Yes, she is, only not right at the moment. She was sent away on business, and I'm beginning to see why. . . ." The last, I knew, was meant to be a thought, but Meg had never been one to control her inner monologue.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Giry, what was that?"

"Oh, nothing." She waved at the air, laughing at herself as she did. "Well, Christine darling, I would love to stay and catch up but I really must be going, there is someone I _have_ to see. But my sweet old friend, it was so wonderful to see you again. I'm sure we'll see more of each other before you leave Coney, seeing as we are in the same show." Smiling, she had no sooner blown back into my life, than she was gone again.

So many years I had wondered what had become of the friend I had missed to that day. In all the places in the world that I pictured her, I had never dreamed I would find her here. I had always assumed that she and her mother had started over somewhere new, that she was married, perhaps a mother herself. I had thought that she would have given up performing. I loved her dearly, and while she excelled at ballet, she had never been leading lady material. I could not understand Erik for making her his star. Had her talent grown so exponentially in the last ten years? I doubted it. I suddenly sensed that there was far more to it than that. . . .

"That was a little odd, don't you think?" I was not the only one whose suspicions were aroused.

I played dumb. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he stressed, his tone snide. "Do you not find it queer that it is the first time in ten years that you are to perform, and it just so happens that it's in the same show as Megan Giry?"

I did not believe Raoul would ever tie Meg to Erik, or place Erik as Mr. Whye**, **but I was sick thinking it**,** just the same.

"I think it is simply a small world that we live in, after all."

"Small world?" He scoffed. "I do not think so, my dear wife, and from the sudden pallor of your skin – I would have to say nor do you."

"Raoul, I do not know–" Before I could continue to lie further, Raoul bellowed and all traces of the boy I loved were instantly gone with the wind.

"Where in God's name has your son disappeared to now!" Gustave always became _my_ son when he did something that displeased Raoul.

"Gustave?" I turned in haste; he had been right beside us only two moments before.

"This is ridiculous! He's constantly pulling this stunt, Christine and I'm tired of it!" Gustave's affinity for wandering wore on Raoul's nerves on the best of days. But now, with him so angry to begin with, Gustave's disappearance had him seething.

"I'm sure he did not mean to wander, darling. You know he gets easily distracted by things." I could not spot him anywhere on the street, and I was beginning to worry.

"Yes, distracted by _strange_ things! Things no normal ten year old would be distracted by, and things that hold no relevance to the fact that he should never wander from us! I swear, Christine, when I get my hands on him, this time he will be punished! I do not care what you say, he is my son, too!"

"Darling, please calm down and let us look for him. Perhaps if we–"

"I cannot do this. I'll be back later. Perhaps by then, you will have located your son." Before I could open my mouth to speak, he stormed off into the crowded street headed in the opposite direction of the hotel.

Trying to find Gustave, alone, was going to be like finding a needle in a field of haystacks! The streets were packed with person upon person, and I was concerned for my son. While he was far more intelligent than most, he was still so small in such a large world.

"Lookin' for someone, lassie?" An elderly man with a thick Irish brogue asked from beside me.

"Yes, my son."

"Cute little lad with hair blonde as an angel's?"

It was only then that I bothered to remove my eyes from the crowd to take in the man before me. He was weathered with age and so slight, it looked as though a good gust of wind would knock him over. He wore a pleasant expression.

"Yes, my son has light blonde hair. Have you seen him?"

"Just a few moments ago. He walked off with three oddities, if you know what I mean?" He laughed revealing a toothless smile. "You look rather put out, lassie, was he not supposed to go? It seemed like the lad knew 'em. Want I should get the authorities?"

"No, thank you, that won't be necessary." I walked away before the man could say anything further.

I had a fairly good idea who Gustave had gone with. He would not have walked off with three strangers**;****,** that I knew. I believed the trio was the same ones who had picked us up from the dock. And I knew exactly who had sent them.

Erik.

I had expected to be with them as Erik showed Gustave the park. It shouldn't have worried me, but the thought of Gustave alone with Erik's perceptive eyes, frightened me.

What if he could tell? And after I had ample opportunities to tell him the truth?

He would hate me.

I quickened my pace, almost upon the hotel.

I prayed Erik would not see; I didn't want to hurt him further.

I prayed Raoul would change.

Most of all . . .

I prayed for the ability to split myself down the middle, so I could help them both.

Erik had been right.

I was at an impasse. . . .

***Author's Note:**

**I apologize that this chapter took so long to finish, but all the chapters lately have been whoppers, lol! I'm trying to write an original story, in hope I can get it published (wishful thinking) and all the chapters I have so far are like 30-40 typed pages! This chapter was 22 pages. Guess I ramble a bit when I write – please, who am I kidding, I ramble when I talk, too! ;p**

**Anyway, yes, I know that Nathan's wasn't built until 1916, but I had to put it in. You have no idea how many times I've been to the original Nathan's in Coney (used live there) and there is nothing like it. I hope you can overlook that error in time, this story's set in 1907 almost ten years before Nathan's ;)**

**Please let me know what you guys think, what you liked, and what you hated – I want to hear it all! I have a Say Now number, that means you guys can call the number, leave me a message and I get to listen to it! It's super cool, lol! Here's the #: 1 (323) 215-1366**

**And oh! I also just uploaded a new Phantom fic. It's called, A Love Unending. I had written it five years ago, almost 6, but never posted it because I had no feedback. Well, my amazingly wonderful beta (GraySkies29 *check out her work, she's so brilliant!*) took a look at the prologue for me and managed to condense it to 3 pages verses the 11 I had written (I rambled a lot, lmao) She's going to look over the other chapters I have written, and when she does, I'll post 'em. You'll notice that my writing is different than it is today, and that's because I've read over a 100 books since writing that, lol. I'd really love it if you checked it out ;) Here's the link:(put the usual http:/ then type in the **www **(fanfiction isn't allowing me to give links in their entirety) **.fanfiction **and the **'.net' **is already there, and the rest of the link is correct) **.net/s/6341812/1/A_Love_Unending

**So I totally rambled enough. I hope you liked this chapter – let me know! **

**Love you guys!**

**-Shannon***


	11. Erik: Revealed

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Erik:**__"Revealed"_

Parting from her, after so many hours of having her near, was almost too much to bear. And though I could not tell you why, the presence of the child only made me want to linger longer. She seemed complete when he was near.

It eased me considerably that I could genuinely say I liked the boy. It made matters less complicated; he was not going anywhere, and I found that I would not want him to even if such a thing were possible.

I was looking forward to spending more time with him so I could truly observe him in. While I saw small traces of Christine in him, I had a hard time locating the Comte, something for which I was grateful. I had feared I would dislike the boy because he resembled his father, but that was not so.

His hair was flaxen, though not the same as that of his father's; the child's was suffused with gold, while de Chagny's was not. And his eyes – they were neither his father's, nor his mother's. Their color was unique and yet, somehow familiar, but in what way I could not say. Their mystery was forgotten by my racing heart as my mind wandered elsewhere.

It was a real possibility that in a day's time my whole life could change. I could have what I had secretly yearned for from the start. And yet, it was just as possible, even more likely, that it would change for the worse – that I would once and for all be denied that which I coveted. And when that happened – the opera that was my life would close its curtain for the final time.

To distract my mind from the torture of the unknown, I instructed Fleck, Squelch and Gangle to fetch the boy for me. I went to my workspace and there, upon the color shifting piano, I poured myself into music. The last note rang in the air when I felt the presence of someone in the room with me. I turned and saw standing in the shadows, Megan Giry.

"You might have made your presence known, Megan." I was annoyed she was there – she knew I loathed being disturbed while I worked.

"I couldn't have possibly interrupted you. That was beautiful – what you just played." For a moment she seemed elsewhere, her mind far off, but the spell faded and she was back, her gray eyes resting on mine.

"What do you want, Megan?" I turned back to the piano wanting to complete the finishing touches to the piece before the child arrived.

"I want to know what Christine's doing here."

So the two old friends had met; I was not surprised. I knew it had been bound to happen.

"That's really none of your concern." I had to explain myself to no one, least of all to Megan Giry.

"It is when she's performing in _my_ show!" She had lost her control, was steaming with anger, otherwise she would never have dared speak to me in such a way.

I ignored her. "It is not your concern, Megan."

"How _dare_ you!" She shrieked, as she ran towards me with her hands balled into fists.

I caught hold of her before she could strike. She had lost her mind. If I had known she would behave in such a way, I would have sent her off with her mother, as well.

"Stop this, Megan!" I yelled as I tried, quite literally, to shake some sense into her.

"You promised me that _I_ was the star! You promised me!" She screamed as tears of fury fell from her storm filled eyes.

I had never seen her act like this, and I was at a loss as to what to do, or what to say to calm her. But before I could act, all the fight went from her body; she slumped in my arms and wept heartily.

I had not taken into account Megan or her feelings when I planned for Christine to sing. That was wretched of me, for it was her and her mother who had helped me, and neither deserved to be lightly discarded. But it had been the only way I knew of bringing Christine to me; in the end that was all that mattered.

I let her cry in my arms, her tears staining my shirt as I gently stroked the back of her head in comfort. How she could have taken its meaning as anything other than consolatory, I did not know – but she did. She raised her head, urgently placing her mouth to mine. I was so stunned, that I did not pull back as fast as I should have, and she began kissing me with increased force.

"No, Megan. I'm sorry but this cannot happen." I pulled from her and wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

Instantly her smile faded. "Why not? Maybe if I screw you then I'll get an aria written for me, too!" Her statement concluded with a resounding slap, my face the sounding board.

The shock of her blow left me as I saw the arrival of Christine's son.

As always, my three trusted employees accomplished their given task and delivered the boy.

Turning to see what had caught my attention, Megan pulled herself together enough to smile at the child, and utter, "Hello."

"Hello, Ms. Giry. Mr. Whye, sir – thank you!" He had seen none of what had just taken place.

Grateful for the disruption this time, I walked from Megan to the boy. "There is no need to thank me – I have not yet shown you anything," I laughed.

"Is Ms. Giry coming to see the park with us?" He asked, smiling at Megan.

"Unfortunately, not. Ms. Giry was just leaving, were you not?" I dared her with the heat of my glare to say otherwise.

"Yes, I was just leaving. I have some _things_ I would like to discuss with my mother."

It was a threat; one I paid no heed to.

"Well, when you _see_ her – tell her '_hello_' for me." I knew that Madeline Giry was halfway to Boston by now and would not be back until my plans had been accomplished.

She seemed to sense what I was thinking; outwardly she smiled, yet burned within. "Oh, I'll tell her – _that_ you can take to the bank!" She threw me one last fury filled smile and left.

"You three may leave as well. I shall call for you when your presence is required." Bowing, they quickly departed.

I turned my full attention to the child. "What would the young Comte like to see first?"

Blushing, the golden child asked, "Would it be all right– I mean – may I?" His awe filled eyes motioned towards the glass piano which had so fascinated his mother. It was clear that he was asking permission to play it.

"Of course, please." I gestured for him to go ahead. I had no idea if he could play or not, but it did make me curious.

Curiosity was instantly quelled as he began to stroke the ever changing colored keys. The sweet melody he produced struck something deep within, something that only stirred when I, myself played. And that was when I realized that the tune his delicate hands played could have been mine. No one I had ever heard composed in the same way as I. Where could he have heard it?

"What is this?"

He did not take his eyes from the piano and the colors that had him mesmerized. "Just a song in my head."

My knees felt weak. I sat down on the stool beside him.

"Go on."

He did, and as he created such glorious sounds with his small fingers, my heart seemed to cease its rhythm.

"I think it's beautiful." He said as he continued to break my heart with the beauty of his composition. "It sounds so beautiful."

_This music . . . the way he plays . . . it's just like me. . . ._

It seemed I was hearing a younger version of myself. I tried to wrap my mind around what I was hearing, what I was seeing, but all that filled me was his music.

"Who taught you to play like this?"

"No one, sir. I would love to receive instruction some day, but father says it's a frivolous activity to spend money upon. So, it's really only something I like to do in my spare time."

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. The boy had not been trained, and yet he played as well as I, or so it appeared. A prodigy. And he was not receiving instruction! A gift such as his was meant to be cherished, and given all that it needs so that it may flourish. Damn de Chagny for trying to stifle such talent!

I was brought back to the child**,** and his breathtaking music. He had changed the melody now, ever so slightly and the tune played softer, gentler. It was beyond anything I would have ever thought a ten year old capable of playing, much less composing – and with no knowledge of how to correctly do so!

_Amazing._

It was then I realized I was witnessing something that would be imprinted upon me forever.

He was ten.

_Just ten years old!_

That night, when I had tasted of paradise . . . it was over ten years ago.

_It couldn't be though – Could it?_

My heart and mind raced at staggering speeds, trying desperately to catch up and come to the same conclusion as my instincts, who had known all along.

"When were you born, child?" All the moisture had left me and the words barely escaped.

This did not warrant a look away from the glass keys, or a pause in the mystical like melody he played; he was still too captured by the music and the colors it produced.

"September 23rd, sir."

"What year?"

"1897, sir."

Quickly, I added the dates together in my head. The opera house had perished in January of 1897. I had lain with Christine at the end of that month. I knew it was possible, but I also knew that Christine and de Chagny were married the following day and just as likely that child was his.

Only, he was not.

_He's mine._

If I had any remaining doubts, they vanished as I took an intense notice of the boy's unique eyes. Eyes, which before could not be placed, though they had possessed a familiarity, were now instantly recognized. It was no wonder they were not realized to me earlier, for it was not often that I looked at myself in a mirror.

They were mine; this glorious creature – so prefect, so beautiful in every way – was of my flesh and my blood. The certainty overwhelmed me. Never before in all my life had I been so sure of something, as I was of the fact that he was mine.

How could she not have told me!

"Why do you ask, sir?"

He pulled me from my growing fury. "Ask?"

"My date of birth, sir."

"I ask young Comte–" I stopped. No, it was not right to call him by such a title when I knew it did not belong to him. So, I restated my answer. "I ask Gustave, because you play remarkably well for one so young in years."

The cherub before me smiled, blushing at my compliment, and then completed his playing.

"Thank you, sir. I love to–"

"You may cease calling me 'sir', Gustave and may instead refer to me as 'Erik'."

"All right. Thank you – _Erik_."

"You were saying?" I could not help my anger.

_How could she not have told me!_

"I was saying?" He puzzled for a moment until his eyes sparked with remembrance. "Oh, yes! I was saying that I love to play so very much. It seems as though music is perpetually on my mind. It never leaves me." At this, his smile faded and the joy seemed to leave him.

"You speak as though that is a problem?"

He was silent, deliberating whether or not he should speak.

"It is something of a problem. You see . . . my father . . . well, he believes the pursuit of music to be a frivolous one, but that is not only pertaining to studying it. He feels that it is a sinful waste of time, so I only play when he is not at home."

I was silent some time, before the child – _my_ child – attempted to excuse de Chagny's behavior.

"He works long hours–" It was more like gambled long hours – _days_ – or so I had heard. "and when he is at home he enjoys quiet, so it is only fair that I abide his wishes and give that to him."

"No, Gustave. It is neither right nor fair!" I spoke harshly because the boy's unacceptable excuses infuriated me. How dare he make excuses for_ him_!

Seeing that he had brought on my displeasure, he apologized. "I am sorry if I have upset you, it was not my intention to do so. I shall leave presently if that is what you wish."

I could not believe that with how eloquently he spoke, his years numbered a mere ten. And while I was angry, it was not at the innocent before me, but de Chagny.

"No, Gustave. I do not wish for you to leave. I apologize for my bad temper. I have been attempting to control it as of late, but I am afraid that you must have patience with me, for as they say – old habits die hard." I smiled in apology.

He smiled back – the most glorious thing I had ever seen. So beautiful in fact, that though my heart and soul told me otherwise, still I doubted. It was hard to fathom that someone so striking, so handsome, could come from some thing like me.

"That's all right, Erik. I have something of a nasty temper on occasion, too." He laughed,the sound decibels of bliss to my ears.

"Do you?" That made me smile. I could not help but wonder what other traits of mine he unknowingly possessed.

"Tell me, Gustave – what else interests you?" I found a sudden,raw need to know all there was about the child before me.

"Besides music, you mean? Well, I enjoy building things."

"Building?" I wondered just what a ten year old could be capable of building, and then I caught myself, remembering that he was anything but a normal ten year old. What he said next, proved as much.

"Yes. Well, you see I'm quite fond of animals – our chickens, in particular; I find that they're more intelligent than they are thought to be. I spent quite a lot of time with them last year, and soon noticed that their coop was extremely inferior. So, I redesigned it by drawing up a new design. Then I built it – it took a few days since I did it alone; Mother wanted to help but I wouldn't let her. Once it was built and the chickens were acclimated to their new home, egg production increased by fifty percent! You see, they weren't provided with adequate space to lay in, and the shed which housed them before, was far too drafty for them to want to lay at all. You have to make it comfortable for them if you want them to produce. As you can tell, from what I said earlier of them increasing their productivity by half, that they were quite pleased with their new home." He smiled, brimming with pride.

"That's quite an accomplishment."

"Thank you. I think of it only as a small achievement, since there are so many other, more complex things I wish to build."

"You have cause to be proud of yourself. But what else is there?"

"What else, sir?"

"Surely you have more but two hobbies with which to occupy your time?"

He laughed. "Do I ever! I have so many thoughts and ideas that run through my mind at all hours of the day, every day, that there are many days when I feel as though there is not enough time for me to do it all."

"I know just how you feel." There were occasions my brain nearly exploded, so filled was it with the ever steady flow of creativity.

"You do?" He seemed astonished, the gold of his eyes burned brighter by the second. Their color was off-putting to anyone not used to it, and I suddenly knew why I was able to accomplish so much with just a glare.

"Yes, I do. And I am beginning to find that you and I, Gustave – have an eerie amount in common with each other."

"We do?" He smiled, seemingly thrilled by the prospect."I don't have many friends because they find the things that I like to do are strange. What's something you enjoy?"

_Well, it used to be killing people, _I thought dramatically. In truth, I had never enjoyed killing. I had only done so when forced, when left with no choice.

"I enjoy creating, imagining things not yet in existence and then, with my own two hands, making them a reality. I take pleasure in allowing my mind to travel down its darker recesses and see where it leads."

"I understand completely! I've thought up amazing stories and things – some that I would give anything to make real – some I would not wish on my worst enemy – and some that are said to be wicked, forbidden**,** but bring me a kind of pleasure." His eyes were fully ablaze now – the flames almost visible within the boiling gold. He appeared as excited to share this with me, as I was to share it with him.

Perhaps, I could show him. His mind did seem to travel the same path as my own. Maybe – just maybe he of all people – could look upon me and see me for what I was – that he could look beyond. . . .

After all, it was deceitful for him not to know, was it not? Yes, it was true that he did not yet realize that the creature before him was his father – a fact which I wanted remedied as soon as possible – but I thought it only fair he should see the monster which he seemed to revere so, right away.

"Would you like to see something?"

"Oh, yes! Very much!"

It was now or never. No, it was not the right time, but no time would ever be right.

"But you must tell me something first. Are you squeamish? Do foul appearing things make you ill?"

He was up and away from the piano in a moment's time. The question had obviously unnerved him; his body posture changed completely, and for the first time I took note of fear in his eyes. I did not want him to fear me, but I felt it only fair that I should pay him some small warning. What he would see was not meant for the faint of heart.

He was silent for some time before answering. "Not very." That was honest. "I have not yet encountered anything which has caused me to become ill."

That was all well and good, but how did I know how much he had seen in his short years? I was assuming not much, sheltered as he was as the future _Comte de Chagny_.

"Never-the-less, if what you are about to see makes you feel in any way uncomfortable, or frightened, I apologize for it now. It is only because I feel that we have become such fast friends that I am willing to show this to you at all."

Interest extinguished fear. "Have others seen it?"

"By choice? Less than a handful."

"Then I should like to see, please."

Rising from my seat at the dormant piano, I made my way to him. Once before him I stood still, trying to keep the courage coursing through me.

_Please, dear God . . . if you have ever cared for me in the least, please do not let him flee from me. Not him. Not my child. . . ._

Since I had not moved or spoken, he asked timidly, "Where is it?" I was making him nervous again, damn! I was doing this all wrong.

Slowly I placed my hand upon the mask. "It is here. _This_, Gustave is what I want to show you." In one swift, fluid motion I tore the mask from my face and threw it to the ground.

Instantly, my prayers were rejected.

A scream.

One so loud, so filled with sheer horror, that immediately I fell to the floor in search of the mask before the sound shattered my ear drums. The poor boy looked as though he might pass out, so unnaturally white was his pallor. If I could locate my mask before that, I could go to him, calm him and perhaps explain that I meant no–

"Gustave!"

_Christine._

Her appearance was just wonderful – the icing on the cake, really. The only time I had spent with our child and I had nearly frightened him to death! What was I thinking? Fool! At last I spied the white burden, grabbed for it and hastily tried placing it back on my face.

"It's all right! Gustave, it's me!"

She snatched the boy protectively into her arms, while all the while searching for signs of injury. When she could find none, she asked, "Are you all right! What happened?" She was worried, to say the least, and on the verge of panic.

I stood, still putting the mask into place. Immediately her frightened, anxious gaze met mine. But it didn't linger on me for long. She looked at her son, then her knowing gaze returned and settled back on me, on the mask. She knew, had put it all together and suddenly she went ashen.

"Oh, God, Erik – I'm so sorry! He is very curious and I assure you that he meant no harm."

"He did me no harm. If anyone has done harm, it is I."

She didn't understand.

I walked to the desk, located in the opposite corner of the room, picked up the telephone and dialed.

"I need you three here, now."

"Erik, what has happened here!" She shrilled. "I want to know what's been done to my son! What do you mean that it is you who caused har–" Before she could go on further, my trusted trio arrived.

"You called, sir?" asked the avian-like Fletch. `

"Yes, please return the child to his suite at once."

"Right away, sir."

"No, thank you, but I shall take him myself." Christine made move to leave, but quickly I crushed that prospect.

"No, you will not. I have something I must discuss with you, _Madame_." She looked at me in a mixture between disbelief and anger, but I did not care – there was not an icicle's chance in Hell that she was going anywhere before I was given some answers.

If it was not the tone of my voice, then it was the fury in my glare that let it be known that the topic was no longer open for discussion.

Relenting, she held the boy out before her, and kissed his forehead; he no longer cried, but was still visibly shaken.

"I will follow behind you. When you are back at our suite I want you to go straight to your bedroom, lie down and as soon as I am finished here I will come to you and we shall talk, all right?"

"But Mother, the dream–"

Quickly she cut him off. "Gustave, I promise I will talk to you as soon as I am through speaking with Mr. Whye. I promise. Now please, do as I have asked." She smiled and kissed his cheek, releasing him into the custody of Fletch, Squelch and Gangle.

She watched as they disappeared from the room through one of the many exits, and then spun on me.

"So help me, God, Erik – if you do not tell me what is going on here. . ." She let the threat hang in the air as though its conclusion was one too heinous to speak aloud.

"_Me_? Tell _you_? What's going on here?" I laughed cynically.

"Yes! My son was hysterical when I came in here and you say that you are in some way to blame for that – so you better explain yourself, Erik!" She was quite angry; the purplish color that was a tell-tale sign she was boiling, had begun to creep into her neck and face.

"No. No, my love. If there is anyone who has explaining to do it is _you_! You say he is _your_ son, do you?"

"Yes, of course he is my son!" She was too wrapped in her rage to read between the lines. "And as far as explaining, I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about!"

I would have to spell it out for her.

"How could you think I wouldn't guess?" I began circling her like a panther.

"I do not know what you are speaking about!"

It was the truth; she didn't know what cause I had to be infuriated over when it had been her son who was in tears.

She would remain blissfully ignorant, no longer.

"How could you think I wouldn't _know_?"

It was there! In her chocolate eyes – at last she understood.

"Oh, _no_." The purple had vanished and she was now whiter in color than I had ever seen her. She backed away from me in fear, and while half of me wanted to spare her further anguish, the other half wanted her punished for her secrecy.

"Do you have something to confess, Christine?" I bellowed, unable to control myself any longer.

She tried to shy from me as I lunged for her, but I was too fast; I had her by the shoulders and was shaking her before she could have made a move.

"I want the truth right now!"

I shook her one last time then stopped. I did not let her go. She went limp in my hands,defeat washing over her.

She looked up at me, her wide eyes filled to the brim with crystal tears, and admitted simply, "You already know it." The tears spilled overand she quickly brushed them away. I let my hold on her go, but she did not back away.

"I have wanted to tell you so many times, Erik – so many times that I could not begin to count them if I tried! Then, coming here and seeing you – it made the possibility of telling you a reality. You know me – I am a coward. When face to face, I could not bring myself to tell you what I would have told you ten years ago, if only you had not vanished. It was you, Erik**,** who decided to change the course of our journey, not I. You decided that when you left us."

Why did she have to word it so?

_Us_, she had said. If I had only known – had any idea! But I had never thought of such an outcome. I never imagined I could live a normal life, and certainly never dreamt of fathering a child. If I had only known then, what I know now.

I found the anger, so potent only a moment before, dissipate and its vapors turn to sorrow. Like a balloon slowly deflating, I felt myself wilt. I moved from her to the chair near the desk, put my head in my hands and silently wept.

_A son. . . ._

I had a son and he wanted nothing to do with me.

Fatherhood was the one thing that I had unfailingly believed would not be mine; I had never deluded myself into even considering it a possibility. I did not think something like me would be able to create. And yet, I was. I had been a father for a decade and had not even known. Once again, my own personal insecurities had prevented me from enjoying what was mine. I knew that I did not deserve him or her, but by God, they were mine!

A silken touch made me aware she was there. She lowered my hands**, **and with a quiet gentleness**,** kissed the unmasked side of my face.

"Forgive me – I beg you. I know I have caused you nothing but pain. I swear – I promise – none of it was intentional." She hesitated, waiting to see if I would speak.

I could not. I was unable.

Acknowledging that, she went on. "I will sing for you, Erik. While it is not in any way going to make up for all the wrong I have done to you, it is all I can do. Tomorrow night I shall sing with all that I have – for _you_. As it has always been for you." The despair in her eyes mirrored that of my own. Silent tears began to flow from her grief filled eyes.

"You must understand that when you left, I had no one to turn to but Raoul. I loved him, Erik. I loved him enough that I did not want to marry him out of necessity. So much so, that I very nearly didn't. However, when you are alone in the world and frightened of it – and a coward – you tend to take the easy way out.

"I did not sleep with him – not at first. I was too lost in my mourning for you to have been much good for anything. Raoul took notice of my melancholy, but when he asked what was wrong, I could never say. Eventually he stopped asking." I could see how much that saddened her; she really did feel to blame for what he had become.

Inhaling deeply, steadying herself, she went on. "Three weeks into our marriage I knew that I was with child. I know that it is said that you cannot tell at such an early stage, but I could. I swear to you I just knew. I awoke one night with a start, my hand upon my womb. I dreamt of a baby boy, who grew into a youth, and then a young man. A young man who so resembled you in manner, in his genius that my heart, though only dreaming, broke with want for you."

She paused; her eyes before were filled with pain, but now over flowed with intensity. "The child's eyes, Erik – they were a golden amber . . . they were yours. However, I did not linger on them long, for the scene before me changed drastically. I saw this beautiful young man accomplish things I never could have imagined. His contributions to the world were altering, for everyone. Each new project that he tackled, in some way, was a help to the world, to society. Erik, the young man I saw was going to change the world. And it was Gustave." Again she paused, her eyes holding mine in full attention. "What finally awoke me though was you."

"Me?" I hadn't spoken for some time and the question came out as an abrasive whisper.

"_You_. I saw you there beside him, beside Gustave as a grown man, smiling, laughing, congratulating him and I could bear it no more."

I looked at her in confusion.

"Do you not see? I knew you would never be there. You had left, I had no way to find you and you made it quite clear that you did not wish to find me. My son was never going to know his father. I awoke with the knowledge that the child within me was a boy – one impossibly important boy. And while I was sure that you would most likely never return, I was positive that what I had dreamt was no dream at all. It had been a premonition, Erik – I know it. After experiencing that, I was deeply aware I was carrying precious cargo."

She was silent, allowing me a moment to comprehend it all. I could not.

"He's going to be important – special, Erik – _our_ son, and I knew at once that it was my responsibility to keep him safe. Safe meant that he would have to become Raoul's child, and be raised as the future Comte de Chagny. After I had come to that conclusion – the only conclusion – I at last shared a bed with my husband. All the while, I wept. Raoul believed it was due to discomfort and blissfully did not see the truth: that I was crying for you."

She was through speaking, and while I would have to ponder what she had said about Gustave and her dream some other time when I could make sense of it all, I could at least answer for my desertion.

"Christine, I do not know what to say. Except that I was fool, an idiot! I believed I was doing the right thing. I never thought that my life would lead to where it has. I am sorry. I realize that there is nothing I could ever say or do to change the past, but there is something I can do to change the future."

She was kneeling before me, her hands on my thighs; her touch was electric. Upon hearing my last words, she rose.

"Erik." Taking a deep, steadying breath, and rising to her full height – 5'4 if lucky – she spoke. "I will sing for you tomorrow night and then we will leave."

"Leave! But you cannot! Not now – not when you are – when he is – Oh**,** God**, **Christine you can't leave!"

I had her in my arms, my mouth interlocked with hers before she could have thought of protesting. She was warm and soft in my hands. I needed to feel her, to commit to memory every curve, every feature. Running my tongue along her lips, she willingly opened her mouth and met it with her own. The heat, the moisture of our mouths as one was something I would also store in memory and cherished till I died. She moaned; the action causing a lovely vibration to occur in our mouths as I placed my hands on the firm roundness of her uncorset**t**ed breasts. I feared for a moment that she might pull away, but she did the opposite; pulling me by the hair on the rear of my head back to her open mouth.

She wanted me, wanted me almost as desperately as I wanted her. So full of need that I could feel it seep from her into me,adding to my own paramount desire. She pulled her mouth from mine and wasted no time in bringing her lips down upon the thin skin of my throat and neck. I wrapped my hands in her voluminous curls and I never wanted her to stop.

Hungrily, she returned her swollen lips to mine, and that pleasant tingling sensation as she moaned, met me again, and I thought that surely I would go mad if I could not take her then and there.

Together we fell to the floor in a heap of heated bodies. I did not know if it was she or I who removed the shirt from my body, but I cared not. My focus was on removing her dress, which was mercifully made of a light material, chiffon, perhaps – and simple to eliminate. As I undid the buttons on the back of her dress, my lips never left hers.

"Erik! Oh, Erik!"

It was the first words she had uttered in some time. Her mouth was wanted – _needed_ – for more basic acts than conversing. I made again to merge my lips with hers, when she tried to pull back from me.

"Erik, I – we should not–" She panted in heat.

"I don't care to hear anything it is that you have to say. No matter what comes from your mouth, it would be a lie." I panted in equal heat. "You know that this needs to happen, that you need me as much as I need you. So please, my love, silence your exquisite mouth and kiss me."

She did not try to deny, nor did she hesitate an instant; the passion which flowed through me, as her lips found mine with a staggering hunger, was overwhelming.

She began removing my mask.

"Christine, do not–"

"Hush, I want to kiss you without it."

I was powerless to stop her. She could have cut out my heart and I would have agreed to it. But kiss me she did, and I relished in the almost unknown sensation of her satin lips as they lovingly kissed the deformity that once ruled me.

It was not I who finally succumbed to the inevitable, but she.

I nearly tore the shift from her body as she ran her hands down the length of me, only to make her way back up again to remove my pants. She pulled them off in one swift movement and immediately as she did so, the uncomfortable feeling of constriction caused to my genitals, was gone.

She stared at me in all my nakedness. Her hand came back to that hardened swell of flesh, which she began to stroke, to caress. She seemed fascinated by it in some way, but I did not have to think more of it. She lowered her warm mouth upon what she was so intrigued byand gave me such pleasure that just as it begun, it had nearly ended.

I had not lain with anyone in over a decade and that woman had been Christine, beautiful, perfect Christine whom had given herself to me in body, mind and soul. She had given me, I had thought, more happiness then than was possible. But that was not so. For now I knew that a child – a glorious, wonderfully brilliant child – had been created from the beauty we had sharedand I found it highly arousing. It proved that I was as much a man as any other.

I pulled her wet mouth from its ministrations and this time could not stop myself as I ripped the satin shift from her body. Her white breasts called to me, each rose-hued nipple hard as a marble. I laid her down upon the gleaming black floor; the ivory of her skin a beautiful contrast to the ebony floor. As she had taken me in, I now did the same.

We had never seen one another in such a way in the light. She was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen and age had only proved to increase that; she was too perfect for this world.

I felt her leg, urgent against my own. I went where she wanted. I took the nipple of her right breast in my mouth where I nipped, nibbled and suckled it until she cried out in pleasure. She writhed beneath me like an anxious snake.

Placing her hands on each buttock, she took me inside her. It was fast, hard and again, almost too much for me to bear. The warmth, the moisture, the texture, the pressure – it was too much. I pulled free, fearing I would end what I never wanted stopped, and lowered myself back down to her rising, swollen breasts and sucked. My hand traveled down the plains of her chest, her flat stomach**,** until I reached the pink mound between her open thighs. I didn't have to question if it was the correct spot, for instantly she cried out and arched upward to press that engorged nub with more force into my fingers.

"Oh, God!" Her whole body quivered beneath me on the floor in explosive waves of pleasure.

When I entered her again, I found her transformed into a sopping mess of moisture and raw heat. I measured my pace for some time, not moving too fast,deep and slow. With each one movement, I felt her stir with me, rising toward the precipice of ecstasy we would soon fall from together.

"I love you! Do you hear me, Christine? I said, I love you!"

Her murmuring, her rapid breathing and the responsiveness of her body, had me taking her with an animalistic need. I could not endure much longer; especially not as she clung to me, her legs wrapped fiercely around my waist, her pelvis arched high, allowing me to penetrate the deepest reaches of her. I imagined myself far enough inside to reach her womb.

"You're mine! Say it! Say that you will always be mine!"

"I'm yours! Oh, God, Erik – yes I am yours and will always be! Please, don't stop – I need to feel more of you. I want you deeper, I want all of you!"

She arched her pelvis higher, and with one last furious plunging thrust, I felt her tighten around me, her muscles pulling, throbbing against me, begging for my release, which I gave. I poured myself into her until I ceased to flow. We had cried out together and lay heart to heart on the ground, our pounding hearts beating in unison.

I did not rise right away, for I never wanted to leave from within her. However, as our hearts returned their usual tempos, we stood and dressed. I saw Christine eye her torn shift, a small smile played upon her lips and then she tossed it for trash. We were silent, each lost in thoughts, until I could bear it no longer.

"Don'tgo – please, do not leave me and take away my child."

She was futilely attempting to brush the creases from her rumpled dress**, **and straighten her unruly curls, and froze when I had broken the thick silence.

We stood some ten feet apart, which she crossed in a breath's time, so that she could wrap her arms around me. She turned her head and lowered it to rest on my chest, right above my bruised heart.

"Erik, I don't want to leave – I love you. But I swore an oath before God that I would not abandoned Raoul that I would take care of him in sickness and in health. I have told you that he is sick now – inside, and needs me–"

"_I_ need you!"

"Erik, please I –"

"It is I who is pleading with you now. Please, my angel – at least say that you will not decide anything before tomorrow night. Promise me."

Sighing heavily, and shrugging her frail shoulders, she replied, "Allright. I promise. But please, I must go – I should have gone to Gustave a long time ago, I mustn't tarry longer."

"Will you tell him?"

"No. Not now – I cannot. I'm sorry." She lowered her shame filled eyes.

"Christine, he's my child – _mine_ – not de Chagny's! I will have nothing if you take him from me!"

"I will tell him, but not now and not tonight." She picked her hat from the floor, brushed it off and put it on.

"When?" I wanted him to know. It was not fair for him, de Chagny or me to continue on with such a pointless charade.

"When the time is right; that is all that I am going to say of it." Bending down, she placed her discarded shoes upon her feet. Collecting herself with a deep breath and resounding sigh, she made for the secret exit within the stone walls we had used early; she had a good memory and I had no doubt would easily find her way back to her rooms.

At the entrance to the passage, I called out to her.

"Give him a kiss from his father, would you?"

She turned, and even from a distance I could see the tears in her eyes. "I will. I do you love you, you know. I always have and I always will." With that she was off, and I watched her vanish from sight.

_A child._

_My child._

And even he turned from me in disgust.

It was all right though. I had confidence that given enough time, he would grow accustomed to the bizarre necessity of the mask. And then, when my time on this earth was up – all that I create – all that I have – would be his. It would not matter if he forever shied from me, it would still belong to him – _to my son_.

When it was my time to leave this world and face the ultimate judgment, I would have hope that perhaps through him – through the good of my son – I might find forgiveness for my sins.

An enormous truth had been revealed to me, one which unveiled another.

I could not lose them.

I was going to place a wager with Christine's gambling husband, one which he would not refuse. I needed de Chagny out of the picture, and since I was no longer in the business of killing, I was going to have to find another way. And that way had just been revealed to me.

I would get what I wanted – what _belonged_ to me – and if that meant playing unfairly . . . so be it!

***Author's Note: I know it's been forever since I've updated, but I promise it was for good reason. I had a ton of crazy stuff going on in my personal life from July of last year to January of this year. So, with that being said – I'M SORRY! **

**I will finish this story 100% - without a doubt. THAT you can take to the bank. However, how long it's going to take me to do it, is another matter entirely, lol!**

**I hope you've all been well :) **

**As always, this story wouldn't be what it is without my amazing beta GraySkies29 (she writes some pretty kick ass fan-fiction, too – go check her out!). Thank you for being such an awesome editor ;)**

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I swear I had no intention of those two getting it on at the end – it totally just happened, lol ;p I changed the rating to an M because it was pretty graphic. Let me know what you think of the chapter as a whole. What did you love, what did you hate?**

**Thank you so much for being so amazingly supportive. If I didn't have your awesome feedback, I never would have gotten this far :)**

**xo**

**-Shannon***


	12. Christine: Queries

_~Phantom~_

_Love Never Dies_

"_Beneath A Moonless Sky"_

_**Christine:**____"Queries"_

I opened the door, praying Raoul was not home, and entered the suite.

He was mercifully absent.

A cosmic amount had happened in the past few hours, and I did not know what to think or how to feel. All I did know was that I wanted – _needed_ – silence.

_And Brandy_.

The calming elixir would soothe my frayed nerves and thundering heart. The heat felt wonderful, and almost immediately my heart slowed and began to return to its normal rhythm. I poured myself another glass, drank deeply, then put it down and made my way to Gustave – there was no putting it off any longer.

I found him awake, sitting up in his bed waiting for me, the lamp beside him burning bright. When he saw me enter his eyes took me in with narrowed suspicion.

"What took you so long?"

I did not want to lie to him but for obvious reasons, there was no way I could answer that question honestly.

"I – _we_, Mr. Whye and I – had some matters that needed to be discussed. He feels very terrible that he frightened you."

Silence.

My son eyed me as though he were the adult, being forced to listen to the child's tale of lies.

I started to sweat.

"Gustave." I walked to his bed and sat at the foot of it. "I am so sorry that I did not tell you sooner that Mr. Whye is _different_. But, Gustave I–"

"Stop it, Mother. Stop!" Gustave shouted, breaking his silence at last. He was neither harsh, nor cold; he sounded tired, sad. "Please, Mother. Who is he?"

"I told you–"

"No! I know him – you know that I do!" His anger grew and I watched as the gold of his eyes began to simmer. "He's the man from my dream, Mother. I don't understand how I didn't realize it at first, but the moment he removed the mask I knew – my dream had told me so, only . . . it wasn't a dream, was it? What I saw all really happened, didn't it? That's why you will not tell me, isn't it?"

So many questions and not one of them held an easy answer. And still he went on.

"That's why you sit here now, white as a sheet, trembling because you know you cannot lie any longer. I want the truth. And I want it now, Mother!"

Cruel tears burned in my eyes. Gustave had never spoken to me like that before. Nor had I ever seen him look at me as he had; the 'perfect mother' illusion he had held for so long had been shattered – and all that he was left with was me, who never was and never would be perfect. I never felt so wretched in all my life.

He was right. I would not lie any longer.

I wouldn't tell him that Erik was his father, but I would tell him the rest. All of it. As intelligent and advanced as he might be, he was still only ten and was going to need time to take in what he was about to hear. I would not encumber him all at once with the whole truth.

"Yes," came from my lips in a ghost of a whisper. "He is the man from your dream."

He took that in, silent a few moments, and then asked, "Why didn't you tell me before we came? Mother, what does this all mean?" He was outwardly disturbed, and I could not blame him.

"I did not tell you, because at the time of your dream I had believed him gone, never to return to my life, and felt there no point in bringing up the painful past."

I was having second thoughts. How was I ever going to be able to tell the tale of _The Phantom of the Opera_ to my son and have him not hate me for the coward I was – the coward _I am _– when I finished the sordid story?

I could only tell it to him the way it happened. No more, no less. So that was what I would do.

"I've told you that when I was a little girl of seven, my father – your grandpapa – died of consumption, yes? And because I had no living relatives to care for me, my father's last wishes were that I be placed in the care of the Paris Opera House and its head ballet mistress, Madeline Giry?" He shook his head in confirmation so I went on. "Well, my father had been close to Madeline's late husband and when he asked, she agreed to watch over me.

"I went – there was no other choice. It was the opera and Madame Giry, or the streets. At first I wept. I would cry throughout the days, the pain of my father's loss never leaving me. The loss of one's parent is not a sorrow I would wish on anyone. After a time, I conditioned myself to hold the grief in until the privacy of night when I could give myself over to it completely.

"One night, many weeks into my stay there, as I wept alone, I heard a voice."

Gustave was listening with great attention, a different intensity of some kind sparked his eyes amber.

Swallowing down the lump of anxiety that clung in my throat, I went on. "That voice, it was so gloriously beautiful and so heartbreakingly sad all at once. It began to speak to me at night, and I found that I was no longer alone.

"'Do not cry my child,' said the voice, and all at once I believed I knew who it was that was speaking to me. You see, before my father died, he told me that I would be protected by an angel – an angel of music. I was young, of course I believed him with all of my heart. So, when I asked the voice if it were the angel my father spoke of, it replied, 'Yes. I am your Angel of Music.'

"That night, and every one after, the Angel of Music was there. As the years went on, I began to hear his voice during the day. He was my tutor, and I can say from the very depths of my heart that my voice is only what it is because of it, because of _him_."

I stopped, struck by a memory.

I reflected upon a time, a long ago moment in time when I was fifteen, blissfully ignorant and in love with the idea of love.

And he was there.

He was always there, if not in voice then in spirit. The thought of him never left me. . . .

Late Christmas night, so very late that it seemed as though all the world was asleep save for me, I lit candles for my parents, knelt down upon the cold stone floor of the chapel and prayed. I was still too young, too foolish to realize that the things I prayed for God had no control over.

"Can you not sleep my angel?" asked the soft voice that seemed to resonate within my mind.

"I am not tired." It was a lie, I was exhausted, but I was not yet ready to leave behind the magic of Christmas. Even with no family to share it with, the day was one of wonder. Even as a grown woman – a mother – the day still held that childish enchantment for me.

"Something is plaguing you. What is it?" I never knew how, but _somehow_ he always saw through me to the truth.

"It was nice spending today with Meg and Madame, but sometimes . . . I miss them so much." I did not have to tell him who 'they' were – he knew.

"I am sure that you do miss them. And that, I am afraid, is something you will always do. Just as wherever they are now, they continue to miss you."

"Do you have family, Angel?"

"I did. Once. Long ago. Why do you ask, sweet girl?"

"Do you not miss them?" We had never discussed anything of the sort and I found I was suddenly very curious to know more.

What I did know, without him saying it, was that he was as alone in the world as I. I had never thought of a melancholy angel. They were beautiful creatures of light, ones never depicted as being sad. But my angel was; a deep sorrow hung in his every word.

Sighing heavily, the sound full of woe, I heard, "No, Christine. I do not miss them; I cannot. For my grief over their loss is so great that I if I allowed it to, the weight of it would crush me."

"Are you not tired of living alone, Angel?"

"I used to be sick with loneliness, but not anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because I have you."

The clarity of that moment and the love I felt for my sorrowful angel, would never leave me. . . .

Bringing myself back to the present, to Gustave and our story, I drew in a deep breath and went on. "I did not see the Angel of Music until I was seventeen. It was then that I realized it was no angel after all, that it was in fact, a very sad and lonely man. It was Erik. I should have loathed him for his lies, but I did not – I could not. After so many years of his presence, I dared not think of a life without him in it.

"And when I came to know him, to understand his woes and the reason for his solitude, his deception and lies, I began to fall in love with him. And at that very same time, Raoul blew back into my life and created a gust of change that none of us could have been prepared for.

"I met Raoul, first" I was suddenly unable to say _your father_, "when I was a little girl in Sweden. He was on holiday with his family for the summer. It was the same summer my father played violin by the sea, where the people there would pay him for the joy of hearing the melodies he effortlessly played. He was very talented, your grandpapa." I smiled, but did not receive one in return. All that radiated from Gustave was rapt attention.

"I was wearing a red scarf, it had been my mother's, when a strong salt-smelling gust of wind picked it up and began to carry off and into to the grey sea. A platinum haired boy raced into the churning waters after it crying, 'I shall retrieve it for you miss!' He did, and came out of the sea sopping wet to hand me the scarf." I paused, swallowing over the large lump emotion stuck in my throat.

Suddenly I wondered why? Why had he raced into the sea? Why do such a thing for someone he had never met? It stung to admit it, but somewhere deep down, a part of me wished very much that he never had saved the scarf at all. All of us would have been so much better off if that scarf had been lost to the tides.

"We spent the summer together, laughing, playing, dancing, singing, reading, but what we loved best was to hear Papa's stories. They were always so exciting. For hours we would sit and listen to Papa. Raoul called me Little Lotte then." I added with a sad smile. "I'll never forget that summer, for in many ways it has been one of my happiest. But when the summer was over, he left and though he promised to write I would not hear or see from him again for eleven years.

"I was seventeen and had been given my first lead role in the opera Hannibal. After all the years of hard work my angel and I – _Erik and I_ – had put in, I prayed there would be nothing to mar my, no – _our_ – moment in the light. For the glory belonged as much to him as it did to me; my voice was everything it was because of Erik. And yet, it proved to be the exact moment when Raoul came back into my life, and without thought or care, I fell in love with him. And foolishly, carelessly, heartlessly – I turned my back on the person who had always been there for me.

"I want you to understand, before I go on, that people change Gustave. No matter what anyone says, people are capable of change. It is true that the only thing in this world that is constant is change. The person Erik was, and the person he is now are two different people."

Gustave spoke, breaking his silent thoughts. "But how can you justify killing, Mother? He did kill, didn't he?" Those golden cat-like eyes dared me to lie.

"There is no justifying murder. However, people that commit crimes when they are not sane, not right of mind, cannot be held accountable for those crimes. You've heard that, haven't you?"

He shook his head.

"Well, Erik went insane, I cannot explain it better. All rational thought had left his mind and the things, the horrendous acts that took place, were not done by the same man I had known almost all my life. On that I pledge my soul." I stared into his captivating eyes, willing him to believe me. "He is not that monster any longer, Gustave, can you believe that?" I needed him to say yes.

Instead he shook his head and said, "I do not know what to believe, Mother. In one way, I cannot see how someone who creates the beauty that he does could in any way be evil. However, I know who the man was in the end of my dream – _vision_ – whatever it is you want to call it – and after what he did to you and Father, I do not know if his crimes are forgivable, no matter how much he has tried to right his wrongs."

I sighed, putting my head in my hands. _If only I could make him understand_. . . .

"You love him, don't you Mother?

My head shot up with a start.

"Gustave–"

"No more lying, remember?"

_Yes, no more lies_, I thought.

"Yes, Gustave, I love Erik. I came to find out far too late that I had always loved him. I could not help it any more than I could help the rising and setting of the sun." I felt a single, cool tear fall from my eye.

Though I wanted to, I could not tell what Gustave was thinking, his eyes were guarded gold.

_He is so much like Erik_. . . .

"Do you love him more than you love Father?"

"No."

"_No_?" he came back, suspicion coloring his tone.

"I love them both in very different ways, do you understand?"

That was the root of it all. I did love them both.

"I think so." He said at last, and I thought my heart would burst with relief as I watched his chilly façade melt.

"Darling, please believe me when I say that I am so very sorry that I kept all of this from you, but I have faith that you are wise and understanding enough to see that it was only because I thought it best for you."

"I forgive you, Mother." It seemed as though it had been forever since I had seen him smile, and when he did, I wanted to cry; it was so beautiful . . . he was so beautiful.

I stood up, and walked over to hug him, but he put his hand up stopping me from doing so.

"Is the rest of the vision true – the end in particular, that he let Father and you go?" It seemed very important to him that this be true.

"Yes."

"All right," he said, though it was more to himself than me.

He sat up, kissed my cheek, turned off the light beside his bed, pulled the satin bedspread up to his chin and closed his eyes.

"I'm tired, Mother. I think I know what I needed to now. Thank you for your honesty."

I was taken aback by his sudden nonchalant behavior. I muttered, "You're welcome. Goodnight, I love you." I was closing the door when I remembered Erik's request. "Gustave?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"Your father wanted me to tell you he loves you."

"I love him, too Mother. Goodnight."

I shut the door to his room with tears in my eyes, and couldn't help but think that he was taking it all much better than I had ever dared hope.

I made my way back to the sitting room. Once there, I poured myself a drink and opened the French doors that led out to the balcony for some fresh air.

I was swallowing down the last of the warm, soothing liquid in my glass – imagining the ecstasy of a hot bath – when the turning of the door knob, a bang, followed by a faint curse, shattered such dreams.

"Son of a . . ." Once again the knob turned, but the door would not open. Then he was yelling. "For the love of God let me in! Christine? Christine let me in!" The banging began again in earnest. "Are you there? Can you hear me? Open the door!"

I sighed, setting the empty glass down on a table near the sofa, and opened the door.

Looking at Raoul in his rumpled suit and tousled hair, I could tell immediately that he was drunk. But given the cold, scathing awareness that was in his eyes, I was certain that he was not yet dead drunk.

"Well, well," he drawled walking in, pushing me to the side and slamming the door shut. "Look who's finally home."

"_Me_? I've been home! What about you? Where have _you_ been!"

He had already filled a glass full of the amber liquid he seemed to love and cherish so, and turned narrowed eyes upon me. "I have been home too, waiting for you, my dear wife. I came back to apologize and take my family out to dinner. I waited and waited, and finally – those three freaks –" he raged, more angry now than I had seen him in some time. "brought Gustave home, crying, no less, I couldn't get the boy to tell me one damn word, and through all of this, his mother is nowhere to be seen!" He was loud, very loud, but his next words were slow and lethal in their delivery. "Now tell me, Christine – where have _you_ been!"

There was no point in lying. "I was with Mr. Whye."

"You mean you were with _him_," he said, making it sound dirty. I had no idea how he found out about, Erik.

I didn't speak a word and that in and of its self, spoke volumes.

I knew the shouting had only just begun, and I wanted to get him out of the suite before he aroused Gustave and Bridgett. I looked around for a place to go and saw the open doors to the balcony.

"Raoul I–"

"You what Christine? WHAT!"

I was slowly making my way out of the sitting room and edging out to the balcony as he unknowingly followed.

"I am sorry." We were half way to the open doors, and I was confidant no one would hear us outside. I stole a glance over my shoulder and saw the lights of the city sparkle invitingly beyond.

"Sorry? You're SORRY!" In his heated rage, he knocked over an armchair and the table beside it with one swipe. I heard the distinct sound of shattering glass.

"Raoul, please – I beg you, Gustave is–"

"Sorry. Sorry," he ranted on to himself, ignoring my pleas. "She's sorry!" His behavior was beginning to frighten me. He was acting as though he were mad.

Finally, I stepped over the threshold and brought the argument outside; I felt that I could breathe a bit easier.

"Tell me, dear wife – have you known all these years that he was alive?"

While I had stopped in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped balcony, he still advanced. Instinctively, I moved away from his fury filled eyes, but soon found that I had very little room remaining between myself and the iron railing that kept me from plummeting to my death. A few more steps and my back would be flush against the rail. I was never an enthusiast of heights, and the prospect of coming so close to the edge unnerved me.

_Perhaps coming out here was not such a good idea after all_, I thought nervously.

I had not answered him, so he shouted, "WELL? Have you known all this time!"

"No, Raoul. I swear it!" It was not a lie, and I felt that at the moment, with him so close to snapping, it was best to keep my answers short and simple.

I thought wrong.

"Can you not speak all of a sudden? Has the cat got your tongue, Christine?" There was going to be no reasoning with him in the state he was in. I would have to weather out the storm as best as I was able.

"I can speak fine, thank you." I simply could not help the curt, clipped tone that crept into my response.

I was angry and scared – a bad combination. He was cornering me like an animal in a cage and I in no way appreciated it. My back made contact with the cold rail and I stood stiff and tall.

"Raoul, you need to calm down. Please let me by because I am going to bed. We can discuss this in the morning when you are more yourself."

I went to move around him, but he angrily caught me and threw me against the unyielding rail. I cried out as a sharp pain radiated throughout my back.

"You are not going anywhere until you tell me what I want to know. Why are we here? What have you done!" His sweet, noxious-smelling alcohol filled breath blew past my face as he grabbed and shook me, making my stomach turn.

"Raoul, let go of me!" I attempted to yank myself free, but it was useless.

"Not until you answer me!"

"Raoul–"

"ANSWER ME!" He shook me like a rag doll; my body crying out in pain each time it collided with the unbending iron rungs of the rail.

_Crying._

Just as suddenly as he was shouting, he was weeping.

"Oh, God. Why Christine? Why must you always love him?" He clung to me in desperation, a little boy who's heart has been broken.

And no matter who he had been only a moment ago, I felt myself fill with guilt, with grief. It seemed that no matter what I did, I would inevitably hurt him in the end.

"Christine. _Oh, Christine_. . . ." He wept on. I put my arms around him, wishing desperately for a way to heal the wounded creature before me, yet knowing that there wasn't one.

"I love you, Christine – so much. Why is it not enough!"

"Darling, it is enough. I love you, you know that–"

"But not enough." He said flatly, his tears quickly ceasing.

"Not enough?"

"Not enough to forget him! Don't you see – _he's_ the reason our lives have come tumbling down around us! And now he's got us right where he wants us!" The sorrow that consumed him seconds before vanished, and the anger and hatred that beleaguered him earlier, returned with a vengeance.

"Darling–"

His mouth was suddenly upon mine, halting any further speech.

His rapid change in mood so shocked me that I stood frozen. When I did not respond as he wanted, he buried his hands in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my vulnerable throat.

"You can do better than that." He brought his lips down – and bit me!

"Ow!" I struggled to pull free.

"Now I've gotten a reaction out of you, haven't I?" He smiled cruelly.

Before I could respond, he threw me to the ground, knocking the breath from me.

When at last I could breathe, I stormed, "Are you crazy!" I was well beyond the breaking point, and I began to get up to face him.

"YES, I AM! And it is _you_ who has made me so!"

He was down on the ground beside me – on me – pressing my tender body into the stone floor.

"What are you doing!" I spat, fighting to move his larger body off mine.

"What's the matter, Christine? I thought you liked your men dangerous." He snarled in my ear.

His grip upon me was vise-like and I realized that my struggle was fruitless. He was far stronger than I and unless he willed it, I was going nowhere.

For the very first time in our ten, almost eleven year marriage, I was actually afraid of him. The enraged, brutal man in front of me now was not anything like my husband. I did not know what this new creature would or would not do, but I suddenly felt very foolish for choosing to go outside where no one could hear us, could hear _me_. . . .

I had to remain calm, had to talk some sense, some reason, back into this stranger, but before I could do that, he was kissing me. It wasn't hard and domineering like before, it was soft and urgent with passion – it was how he kissed me earlier in day when he had seemed for a moment like the person I had fallen in love with.

"I can't!" He breathed in agony, suddenly wrenching himself from me.

I was confused and very frightened; his Jekyll and Hydeperformance was downright scary.

"What do you–"

"You've been with _him_! I can smell him all over you. You make me sick!" He spat in disgust.

Now that he was away from me, I rose to my feet. Before I could blink, I was back down on the floor. He had slapped me.

I brought my hand to my stinging cheek in a stupor of disbelief.

_He hit me._

_Raoul hit me._

Something inside me, that had mercifully remained unscathed until then, was torn.

"Christine, I'm sorry – so sorry! I apologize! I didn't mean to, I–"

"You bastard."

A haze – a fog – of fury came over me and before I could think I was on my feet and advancing on him. Now it was he who recoiled.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

I took all the strength I could muster and slapped him in return.

His reaction was anything but what I had expected. He somehow thought this was an invitation to kiss me. When I could finally pull free, I slapped him again.

He understood.

This was no passionate fight between two lovers who would kiss and make up. I wanted nothing to do with him, and that was plain.

Enraged was too simple a word to describe the person who threw me to the ground and was now wrapping his large hands around my fragile neck and squeezing. . . .

"How could you! Why? WHY!"

I didn't know what 'why' meant, but I cried out as his hands tightened their hold, a stupid thing to do; as soon as I exhaled I found I could no longer inhale. As I began to choke to death all I could think was, _This is Raoul . . . sweet Raoul . . . the boy who fetched my scarf from the sea. . ._

My vision began to fade;I was going to lose consciousness any second now. . . .

"WH–"

His weight was no longer upon me. He was gone. _But where could he have_. . .

_Erik_.

It was Erik.

I looked on, the scene wavering in and out of focus as I fought to catch my breath, stunned to see Erik as he picked Raoul off me and hurled him with staggering force into the iron railing, nearly sending him over.

"Are you okay? Christine, are you hurt?" Erik turned to me, his eyes filled with panicked worry as they scanned me for injuries.

"No, I'm fine."

He looked me over again, confirming with his own eyes that I was unharmed, and rose before me like a black panther defending its mate. A raw wildness had seeped into him, and danger radiated from him in plumes.

Raoul turned, blood trickling from his nose, using the railing for support."How dare you!" He glanced at the blood which had soaked the sleeve he held to his battered nose in astonishment.

Before I could shout for him to stop, he ran towards Erik with his fists raised. And just like before, with one quick, deft blow Raoul hit the floor as Erik loomed over him.

"Stay down, de Chagny. If you know what is good for you, _stay down_." His voice was glacial.

Raoul, though loathing to lose, remained where he was.

"Christine." Erik breathed as he fell upon his knees to take me into his arms.

"Erik, I am fine. _Really,_" I stressed when he shot me a skeptical eye. "Please, I just want to go inside and–"

Black!

Gray!

White!

Light!

An explosion of light.

And pain!

My head was exploding!

But then I realized that it was not exploding, it had been smashed to the stone floor as two bodies collided. Somewhere nearby those bodies were in a dance of some kind; no, not a dance – a fight.

_Oh, God!_

I tried to lift my head and nearly blacked out from the intense pain. I concentrated, willing my body to cooperate with me so I could at least open my eyes. I did, and at once I shut them again for even the dim light of the night hurt. I slit them open a fraction and saw that Raoul was again on the floor as he held his bleeding face.

"If you get up this time, I will kill you," snarled the panther above him.

I believed the prey would obey and remain subordinate, but it did not. I watched in horror as Raoul flung himself at Erik's long legs, bringing him down in a tumble.

"YOU kill ME? You've ruined my life! I'll kill YOU!"

I had to stop this. They were going to kill each other. Or more likely, Erik would kill Raoul – either way I had to put an end to it.

Managing to stand – albeit unsteadily – I cried, "Stop! STOP!"

They didn't hear me as they stood and began to circle one another. Raoul wiped the blood from his face, and where it welled out of a significant cut above his left brow. Erik, it appeared, was unscathed save for his disheveled hair and clothes.

"PLEASE STOP!" I could have screamed it as loud as a freight train whistle and still they would not have heard me.

I knew there was only one way to put an end to all this madness; I was going to have put myself between them.

"STOP! STOP!" I shouted, my arms outstretched, warding them off on either side.

At the end of each arm stood a raging, fuming, gnashing man; both brought back to their most basic of instincts – kill or be killed. But I had successfully split them up, and prayed the situation would begin to cool.

I was wrong.

"Look at you, monster! Pretending that you belong in society? What a joke!" Raoul seethed. "How dare you drive us here to this FREAK SHOW and how dare you think, even for a moment, that you can take what is MINE!"

Erik laughed, the sound black velvet. "Yours? She belongs to me – she always has. And that is what drives you so mad, is it not?" Erik smiled, showing his predator's teeth. He was playing, toying with Raoul now. "No matter what you do . . . she will never be yours."

That was all it took for Raoul to shove me out of the way so he could get to Erik.

_They're not going to be satisfied until some gets killed._ That was all I could think before I felt a cold rail, and myself gliding over it. I was falling backward. . . I was sailing right off the side of the. . .

A warm, urgent hand grasped mine, and how – while I was in midair – it caught me, I shall never know.

"Hold on, damn you! Christine, I said HOLD ON!" I realized that the frenzied voice above wanted me to grip as tightly as I could. Instantly, I obeyed.

I looked up and saw two golden eyes that commanded my attention at once.

"I'm going to pull you up. Whatever you do, do not let go! Do you understand me?" He growled.

"Yes, I understand! Please, hurry Erik!"

I was swiftly losing my calm as I became aware of just how precarious a position I was in. The more I tried to battle the panic, the more I panicked. I managed to keep my composure long enough to do as he asked, and then I was being lifting me up and over the rail and into his arms. Once there, I wept.

"My God. You almost – I almost did not get to you – dear God it would have been Luciana all over again!" He clung to me, wrapping me in the comforting span of his arms.

_Raoul._

What had happened to Raoul?

I opened my eyes to look over Erik's shoulder, and saw a very white version of my husband. But when Erik kissed me, and murmured a thanks to God, his color began to return.

"Look at the two of you," Raoul uttered emotionlessly, the agony of it all lay in eyes. "Have you no shame – no compassion?"

Turning around with me still in his arms, Erik said, "It hurts, doesn't Comte – knowing that the one you love is in love another? That the thing you cherish most will leave you–"

"Christine's not leaving!" The white was completely gone from his face now, replaced by the fuchsia color of fury.

"Perhaps not, but the uncertainty of it wounds, does it not?" He smiled wickedly.

He was enjoying this; that betraying ring of pure bouillon – larger, much larger in size than his son's – was burning bright with satisfaction.

"You are wrong. There is no uncertainty. Christine is mine! Mine by law and by God. This argument was settled long ago!"

"Ah, but we were playing a different game then, Comte. The rules have changed."

"You filthy, son of a–"

"No! No, Raoul!" I cried, as I again placed myself between the two raging bulls.

For some enigmatic reason I will never know, Raoul listened. "Fine. I won't touch him. I'm leaving before I kill him!"

"Yes, do run along. After all, you might as well get used to walking away now." Erik purred.

Raoul stopped, turning around in the doorway. "This isn't over – not by a long shot."

"No, it isn't."

Both men glared,each waiting for the other to break eye-contact first. In the end it was Raoul who turned and walked away. A few moments later I heard the front door slam shut.

"Let me see your neck," he barked, his hands on my shoulders moving my hair to the side.

"Erik, it is fine."

But he was not taking my word for it as he continued to assess the damage.

"No, you certainly are not fine. Your neck will be a tender bruised mess comes tomorrow, to say nothing of what your head and the rest of you will feel like. That ignorant drunk could have damaged your voice . . . he could have killed you." I heard the sharp intake of breath as this fact washed over him.

While I was not going to come right out and admit it, I had been frightened for the same reason. I was truly afraid for my life tonight, and the more I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that it was Raoul I was frightened of, the more confused I became.

"I do not know what happened to him, Erik. I'm scared for him. I have never seen him like that."

"How many times has he hit you, Christine – before tonight?" The question was short, clipped, and the tone was deadly.

"Oh God, never! Raoul has never laid his hands on me until this night, I swear it." For some reason I could not explain, it was all of a sudden extremely important that Erik believe me. I needed him to know that Raoul was, despite his recent downfalls, a good man. "After I left you, I came back here, spoke with Gustave, went into the living room and that's when Raoul came home and I think you know the rest. As soon as I admitted to being with you, he lost control." I was deeply worried for him – what if he had some kind of mental breakdown?

"You, my dear, are unbelievable!" Erik laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in amazement. "You are actually worried about him, aren't you?"

"Of course I am concerned for him, Erik! The man has been my husband for over ten years, and despite what I feel for you, I still love and care for him. I fear coming here might have been his undoing. What happened here tonight was not all his fault – he just lost control – he didn't mean to."

"Listen to you!" he cried, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "You sound like a common battered wife!"

"That is not the case and you damn well know it!" His previous comment had stung and I found the anger within me suddenly growing. "There are circumstances involved here that have to be taken into–"

"_Circumstances?_ You are making excuses for behavior that has none!"

I went to speak but he held up his hand, so I remained silent.

"I do not care," he began shaking his head. "It does not matter. Anything you are about to say in reference to him, is pointless, for it does not matter. Not after tonight – not after what he has done to you. Do you have any idea the control it took for me not to kill him? I could have done so easily – and I wanted to – but I did not. But he is out of control – can you not see that? What will it come to next, Christine? There is no way you can stay with him after this!"

"I cannot simply leave him, Erik!"

"You cannot stay! I will not allow it! Gustave is as much my child as he is yours, and under no circumstances will he ever bear witness to a scene such as the one which transpired here tonight."

I was fuming. He infuriated me for being so stubbornly narrow minded when it came to my marriage – to Raoul!

"You are worried that he shall be tainted from witnessing Raoul and I fight, but what about you – what about what you showed him tonight? You nearly frightened him to death! What in God's name were you thinking, Erik?"

"I cannot apologize for that enough. I truly have no idea what possessed me to think it was acceptable to show him who I was so soon." He spoke softly, earnestly – but quickly added in a temper, "That is irrelevant! I will not have my son – _my_ son – around _his_ influence. I will not!"

I was furious with him! What kind of parent did he think I was? As if I would ever allow Gustave to see anything like what had happened here tonight. The nerve of him – the absolute gall!

"You have some nerve to even think that after all these years of your absence you're going to waltz back into our lives as if nothing has ever happened! And you are severely mistaken if you believe, even for a second, that you can make demands involving my son – _mine_. I carried him, gave birth to him and it has been my job, Erik – not yours – to care for him as best as I have been able. If he belongs to anyone, it is to me!"

I saw the great struggle within him as he fought to remain calm, to not make it obvious just how angry he really was, but those traitorous eyes that burned with fury said it all. He was murderously mad.

_Well, good!_ I thought. _I don't care if he is angry with me – Gustave is _my_ child!_

"Christine," he began slowly, choosing each word carefully. "That child, by right of God, belongs to me as much as he does you. You would do well never to forget that." His voice was a dangerous mixture of satin and velvet.

"He is mine, Erik. You cannot take him from me." I said between clenched teeth.

"Christine–"

"You have no rights to him!" It was suddenly dawning on me that perhaps Erik would try to take Gustave away from me.

_Well, let him try_, I thought. _No one on this earth will ever succeed in doing that._

"You have no say – not after leaving us!" I hadn't realized until that moment just how much I still resented him for leaving. And out of nowhere, I began to cry.

"Oh, my love – my sweet love. Please do not cry, I cannot bear it when you cry," he begged, taking me into his arms. I did not fight him – I could not, for the security of his arms and the blissful peace which they contained, was precisely what I needed.

"I will never forgive myself for leaving, for being unable to stay. I will hate myself for it until I die, you must know that. But Christine . . . I am here now, and I vow on my life, that if you wish it to be so I will never leave you again." His lips brushed my cheek, sending a thrill through me. "You know that this is right . . . that _we_," he breathed into my open, waiting mouth, "are right."

I was not sure if I was suddenly lightheaded from my injuries, the events of the day and night, or from intoxicating nearness of him. I wasn't myself in his arms and yet, I was never more so. My mind was swirling as he placed his lips on mine.

He was right.

We were two halves of the same whole – there was no way to deny it. But I also knew what I felt for my husband, and there was no denying that either. I was just as confused as ever before.

It was some kiss, for it gave me the feeling that my legs were falling out from under me.

"Christine, are you all right?" My legs apparently really did give way, if it had not been the security of his arms I would have fallen.

I felt extremely faint, and not at all in a pleasant way. "Erik, I think I need to lie down."

No sooner had the words left my mouth, was he picking me up and depositing me on sofa inside.

"I will be right back, sweetheart, give me but one moment and then I will be back to ease some of your pain."

"Erik?" I asked, taking hold of his hand so he would not yet leave. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

"I was dropping by to speak with your husband – as you can see we still have a few matters that need settling – when I heard a murmur of commotion. I let myself in, followed the sounds, and once I saw the mess in here," he swept his arm out showing me the broken glass and toppled furniture, "I knew something had happened. Then I heard your cries and ran as fast as I could to you." Pain welled in his eyes as its liquid grief ran down his face.

I knew why he cried. He was in some way blaming himself for what Raoul – not he – had done.

"I want him dead, Christine," he growled lowly. "I came temptingly close to nearly doing the job myself, but I managed to stay in control. Next time . . . there is no telling what I shall do."

"You need not worry yourself on it any longer, for I assure you that tonight was the first and last time my husband will ever hit me."

Smiling, with a look I could only name as trust, he said, "I believe you." He gently squeezed my hand in reassurance. Then dropping it, declared, "Now, allow me fetch a few things that will make you undoubtedly more comfortable."

"Oh no, Erik – it is late, and I am so very tired. All I want to do is sleep. If you could just help me to my bed, then you could leave–"

"Leave? I am afraid I am not going anywhere while our dear Comte is in such a state. I will not leave you and my son to deal with the beast alone. Nor**,** will I go anywhere until I see that you are as comfortable as I can make you." His tone left no room for argument.

As he turned and left, I closed my eyes and though I was tired through and through, I could not make sleep come. Too many unanswered questions ran through my mind and the loudest, most commanding one of them all was, _What I am I going to do . . . which man will I forsake?_

He returned with some ice wrapped in a towel for the back of my head, a cool wash cloth for the front of my head, and to aid sleep he brought with him a glass of warm milk. I did not ask how he had done all of this so speedily, I was thankful and I gratefully took the warm mug he offered.

I tried again. "Really, I'll be fine now. I am going to go to sleep and prepare for tomorrow. I have quite a day ahead of me, do I not?" I smiled weakly, for the activity of it hurt.

What I had just jestingly said, was perhaps the biggest understatement I ever uttered in my life. Tomorrow was the day I would have to break someone's heart. Tomorrow was the day I was going to make a choice that would affect us all and the thought of it made me sick.

"Yes, you do have a big day tomorrow – I believe we all do." Easily he had picked up on my train of thought.

Was I really so plain to read, a mirror that held no secrets? Or was he just simply that astute at reading my mind? I pondered this as he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, softly laying me down upon the bed.

"It's a little of both really." He smiled devilishly as he answered my thoughts.

"How did you?"

"For me, who has so many years practice, you are not hard to understand. I need but one look in your chocolate eyes and I see what lies beyond."

He turned and came back with a wooden chair which I assumed came from the desk in the room, and placed it next to the bed. He sat in it, his one hand in mine, the other lovingly caressing the side of my face.

I looked into his eyes and could not have looked elsewhere if I had wanted – which I did not. I could not help but think of how very much I loved him, and what all the long lonely years had been like in his absence. Could I get through, not just another ten, but who knew how many years without him? A deep shiver overcame me – which he had seen and thus proceeded to pull the blanket up higher, so that it was tucked right below my chin.

_He's so good to me_, I thought drowsily.

"Thank you," I murmured yawning.

"I wish you would not thank me. I am only doing what I must. I have always felt it my duty to watch over you. I suppose that is why any time you have ever been hurt, I respond so poorly. I feel as though I am letting you down and that is something – above all others – I wish never to do."

I was exhausted, and my arm – as I lifted it to stroke the side of his face – was heavy with sleep. But I had to touch him, to commit ever trace of him as he looked now to memory.

"Please, don't lay any blame upon yourself for what happened here tonight. You are in no way at fault." I was struck by a memory. "Do you remember when I was fourteen and Meg tried teaching me to go on point, only I didn't have the right ballet slippers and ended falling right off the stage and breaking my ankle?"

I watched as some of the heaviness left him and he smiled. "I remember that when I found out I had wanted to wring Megan's neck, until I realized that it was an accident and it had not been her fault. It was mine. I was your guardian, your protector, not she."

"But do you not see, my love?" I was very tired now, my tongue and eyelids felt heavy, and I was having a hard time controlling them, but I could not go to sleep until I made him understand. "That was no more your fault then, than it was tonight. The sooner you realize that you are not to be blamed for everything that happens – the sooner you will put my heart at ease." I was losing focus fast. "There are so many terrible things . . . tragedies . . . that can befall us . . . any given day . . . you never know what tomorrow may bring . . . kills me . . . think of you wallowing . . . away . . . in grief . . . if . . . accident . . . happened to me. . . ."

"You are ready to sleep now, love. Shh, just sleep – I will not leave you. No accident shall befall you while I am here."

Somewhere through the fog of sleep, I felt his hands grip mine.

"Why . . . me?" I managed, though I didn't know how, to mumble.

"What do you mean, sweet girl – why you, what?"

"Why . . . pick me . . . when . . . so many other. . . ."

I could not finish the question, nor could I open my eyes to look at him as he answered, but I could hear him clear and true in my dozing mind.

"You are the only one I have ever loved . . . you're the love of my life, sweet girl. There never was and there never will be anyone else."

With those words playing over in my mind a deep, peaceful, query free sleep claimed me. . . .

***Author's Note: **

**I hope you guys liked this chapter. It was one that seemed to be almost completely written by the characters, all the outlines I had for it went out the window once I began writing.**

**I believe that what I'm going to do comes the end of the story is write both two different endings; one where Christine dies, and one where she does not. It'll sort of be like a chose your own adventure book. YOU can decide how you'd like to end the story, not me, lol! What do you guys think of that idea?**

**As always, a huge thank you to each and every one of you who read and review. Please, please take a moment to review. I live for the reviews and can say with absolute honesty they're the only reason this story is still going. So like I just said – PLEASE REVIEW! :)**

**xo**

**-Shannon***


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